Sins of the Piano Man
by solareclipses
Summary: AU. A reclusive vampire's swan songs for the victims he regrets draw in a young woman struggling with her father's illness. As fate brings them together, Edward's dark past threatens to tear them apart. ExB. Won 'Best Overall' 2011 Vampie Award.
1. On the Conception of Threnodies

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**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 01: ON THE CONCEPTION OF THRENODIES**

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_Seeing myself this way,  
I am a monster, I believe.  
And seeing is believing._

_"Whatever I Fear" by Toad the Wet Sprocket_

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**EDWARD MASEN**  
_February 12, 1987_

The world craves, perhaps even _demands_, balance. Give and take. Plant and harvest. Yin and yang. This February night—one night in a month of an endless number yet to come—was my night of _take_, my warped yet highly satisfying night, during which I did not feast on society's refuse, but on its goodness. On the twelfth night of each month, I hunted as traditional vampires do, hunted as I desired; what I wanted was _not_ the foulness of criminals. I wanted innocence, as much as I sometimes hated taking it.

Though I didn't really believe my own excuses, I told myself that this night of debauchery was really not that sinful at all, that this was so I could purge the evil I consumed all other days of the month. Drinking the blood of murderers and rapists and pedophiles must surely be my gift to society, so what could be so wrong with an occasional treat? Sometimes, when I felt especially cocky, I'd tell myself that this was what society _owed_ me, that this was all part of nature's balance. Denial can be a powerful emotion, even in vampires.

This particular twelfth began in a bar in the southeastern suburbs of drizzly Seattle, Washington.

I always entered bars at ten o'clock at night. Over the years, I'd learned that this was the optimal time to begin hunting: it wasn't so early as to make my pickings slim, nor was it too late as to make my visit uncomfortable with the dozens of hazy and drunken thoughts that my ability to read minds forced me to hear. Ten o'clock was perfect; bars were filled with sober humans.

The red brick building I entered looked like many of the bars I'd seen in my sixty-six years as a vampire—nothing special, catering to a slightly blue-collar market. The right side of the building held the bar and the frazzled-looking bartender; it was where most of the humans huddled, either to purchase more alcohol or to try to find someone who would keep them company for the night. They were needy like that, and they were at their worst in bars. Bars were filled with lonely people who wanted to talk or touch or fuck, but rarely had the backbone to say as much until several drinks had entered their system.

Booths and small wooden tables filled up another third of the building, and there were flickering neon signs for Budweiser and Miller Lite above a scuffed-up pool table. Finally, cradled in the far corner, was the small dance floor. On Saturdays, a live band might set up on the meager stage, but it was a Thursday, and so those who wanted to dance had used the old-fashioned jukebox. Bruce Hornsby's "The Way It Is" played in tandem to the increasingly loud chatter of the bar's patrons.

I noticed all these things, but the smells were what I always noticed first. To the human eye and nose, this bar might seem fairly clean, but I could detect the acrid scents of vomit and urine that clung to the floor and walls beneath the masking scents of disinfectant sprays and soap. Of course, above all these horrible scents was the bitter odor of smoke. The owners could scrub all they wanted, but unless they torched the place, those scents were here to stay.

These things were only tolerable because of the delectable blood that pulsed and pushed through the skinny, serpentine veins of the oblivious humans around me.

Sweet, salty, tangy—the warmer, the better.

And then there were the heartbeats, which provided an odd, steady, thrumming accompaniment to the music. Some hearts beat faster than others; some skipped beats in sudden excitement or nervousness; some were slow and relaxed. I smiled. If they knew what was in their midst, none of them would be relaxed.

All of it—the blood, the heartbeats—made me thirsty, fanned the ever-present flame in my throat that was forever telling me to _feed_. Not even the scents of vomit and urine could change that, could change how utterly delicious every one of the humans smelled.

I swallowed back the venom that gathered in the back of my throat. It would not do to get carried away and take the easiest victims. The easy ones—usually the tipsy women who were immediately lured by my outer appearance and scent—weren't any fun. I liked a challenge, at least up to a point. They provided some entertainment in a monotonous existence.

Sauntering over to the bar, hamming up the confident swagger that intrigued my prey, I ordered a beer. I wouldn't drink it, of course, but I had to have something in my hands to put the humans at ease.

Beer in hand, I went to one of the empty tables near the dance floor and sat. There were enough people in the bar to make mind reading uncomfortable, but I'd learned over the years to ignore the majority of what I couldn't help overhearing, as one would with the voices of a crowd. Now, though, it was time to listen. I focused on one or two humans at a time, pulling their thoughts out of the mental dissonance.

_Oh, she's got a wedding ring. Damn…maybe it doesn't matter?_

_This vodka's going straight to my head. Oh, well. I don't give a shit. Still can't believe I lost Ted the McLuhan account. My ass is fucking grass._

_I can't believe my fake ID worked!_

When I focused like this, images came with the thoughts—images of what was being looked at or misty imaginings. Adult humans usually reserved their imagination for the romantic and sexual exploits they desired; men also had a tendency to imagine themselves doing something heroic, which _of course_ led to "getting the girl" and besting other male competition.

Humans were incredibly simple creatures, really. It was difficult to believe I'd been one once. At least, these were the things I told myself to make it easier to kill them.

And on and on they went, thoughts of love and sex and money and liquor. Humans might be surprised to know how often at least three of those things overlapped on any given night.

But then everything stopped. The whole world seemed to fall away when a petite, brown-haired woman walked into the bar to the glam rock of "You Give Love a Bad Name." Before I even realized what I was doing, I was walking to her—a little too swiftly for human comfort, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

She was completely ordinary looking with her shoulder-length hair, plain shirt, brown skirt and boots, but there was still something about her that was intriguing, something that called to me. Her scent was sweet, like gardenias, with subtle undertones that I couldn't quite place but that had the fire in my throat raging. All the other thoughts and humans in the bar no longer mattered. She would be the one I would take.

"Hello," I said in my most charming voice when I reached her. "May I buy you a drink?" I leaned close and smiled, meeting her startled gaze head-on.

Her thoughts were flustered as she took in my face. _Well aren't you confident! So handsome…green eyes…no, contact lenses…wonder what your real color is. Oh! He wants to buy me a drink. I shouldn't… Oh, God, I'm going to regret this, I know. I shouldn't… Just for tonight… _She smiled up at me, but it didn't completely reach her eyes. "I'll have a Bud." _Stay with me. I don't want to be alone. Not tonight._

I wouldn't dream of leaving her alone. She was mine now.

I looked around needlessly. "Are you here by yourself?" She nodded, and I flashed a grin that sent her heart racing, making her smell that much sweeter. "Care to sit with me?"

"That'd be great," she said. _Something strange about this guy… Should be careful._

She would be less perceptive after a few drinks.

I bought her beer and led her to the table I had previously occupied. Her thoughts were erratic, jumping back and forth to different faces that she didn't readily assign names to, and to a rainy town called Forks; and then her thoughts would drift to me, to how handsome she thought I was and to how much she knew she would regret tonight even though she had every intention of living life to the fullest while she still could.

Was she dying?

Well, no matter. She had a front row seat to death now.

We sat, and I smiled at her again. Her heartbeat slowed. "I'm Edward," I said, and didn't extend my hand to her.

_Old-fashioned name…must be a relative's. _"Renée," she answered.

"What brings you to a bar alone this night? Not everyone comes on a Thursday." I smirked.

Renée sipped her beer, her mind still a swirling mess that was surprisingly difficult to follow. Her thought patterns were similar to a child's—jumpy and emotive, easily distracted. One smiling face came up more often than others—a young man with a fishing pole; he had a slightly mischievous glint in his brown eyes and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Her mind paused on this image as she shrugged and replied, "I just needed to get away tonight." _Hope you don't ask any more questions. Can't deal with the third degree… I want to dance…_

Ah. Not dying. Feeling stuck after making poor decisions. I was guessing that the poor decision was the man. It often was for women.

I gave her a sympathetic look, or as much of one as I could muster, at least. I tried to leave my emotions behind when hunting. "Sounds like you could use a break. Would you like to dance?"

Her blue eyes lit up in her heart-shaped face as she scrambled up from her chair. It toppled slightly behind her. "Yes, come on!" Before I could stop her, Renée grabbed my hand. Her eyes widened, but she held tight to my fingers. "Oh!" she exclaimed, looking down at our joined hands. "You're so cold!"

"Bad circulation," I murmured as she pulled me toward the dance floor. She accepted my excuse. They always did. Why wouldn't they?

One song bled into another as Renée and I wordlessly rocked our bodies to a wide variety of music—not all of which I liked, but it kept her happy. She didn't want to drink. She wanted to dance. She wanted to _feel_. She wanted to be young. And the longer we danced, the more comfortable she became until she was flush against me, moving her hips closer and closer to mine; her mind came up with a dozen ways to explain away my granite-hard body. I let it.

My throat burned as I dropped my face close to her neck, delightfully torturing myself with the cocktail of her blood; it was so strong that it seemed to drown out all else in the bar. It was only us: this small woman, her troubled and erratic thoughts, and me. As she thought of the man with the fishing pole, of Forks, of sunnier places like California, I imagined all the ways I would kill her.

I could drain her in a steaming shower. Her scent would be held in the steam and surround us for several minutes even after she was dead. This was one of my favorite methods.

Sometimes I liked to toy with them, slide down their bodies until my head was between their legs. They _always_ thought I was going to go down on them. Of course, how could they know I only wanted access to their femoral arteries?

Renée's scent was almost too much, though. There likely would not be many theatrics this night.

My hands went to her hips, pulling her closer, and her heart sped up.

_Shouldn't do this…but you're so sexy…just for tonight… No one has to know… Just for tonight…_

Right or wrong, tonight was all she had.

I leaned my face against her cheek. Having only had half a beer, she still found my cool skin surprising, but she oddly accepted it. I brushed my lips against her ear, and fingered the hem of her purple shirt. "Come back to my hotel room with me, Renée."

Her heart skipped a beat, and the young man in her thoughts—her husband, I had learned—disappeared completely, his image swirling away like the gray smoke from his cigarette. _Can I trust him?_ _Just for tonight… _She nodded breathlessly.

Using feather-light pressure, I kissed the shell of her ear.

I led Renée out into the night, leaving behind the steadily growing crowd that hadn't interested me for much of the evening. Unsurprisingly, a light mist was falling from the Seattle sky; it heightened Renée's scent as soon as it made contact with her skin.

More venom to swallow.

"Nice car," Renée complimented when we stopped before my black Ferrari. _He must be fucking loaded._

I was. Mind reading helped with gambling, and eternity seemed to help with interest and investments.

I grinned and opened the passenger door for her. "I hope you like to go fast," I warned as she ducked inside.

Her thoughts were becoming more hormone-ridden as the night went on. _I'll go any way you like_, she thought. She imagined me naked. My skin was darker, more alive in her mind; my body yielded to her touch. Humans lied to themselves like this all the time when it came to imagining me. I often wished I could be what they imagined—warm, pliable, _alive_.

I wound through streets at high speeds that had Renée giggling like a teenage girl; of course, she didn't look much older than a teenage girl, either. The tires squealed as I jerked the wheel into sharp turns that humans wouldn't be able to make as easily without the preternatural reflexes that I so often had to hide.

_He's staying _here_?_ Renée wondered as I pulled up to the short line for valet parking at the hotel where I'd booked a room for the purpose of my dinner. My own macabre restaurant experience.

Keys handed off, I led Renée through the extravagantly designed hotel lobby and into the elevator. It was here that she began to really question what she was doing and—even more so—the man she was about to do it with.

Too little, too late.

"I don't think you ever said what brought you into the city," she hedged, her blue eyes suddenly filled with concern. "Business?" _Oh God, we're going to his room. I'm really doing this, aren't I? This isn't right. What was I thinking?_

Whether she thought it was immoral or not, a part of her was thinking about riding my cock. I had to hide my grimace.

"_Pleasure_," I corrected in my most seductive voice. From where my hand rested on her lower back, I slipped two fingers beneath the edge of her skirt and glided my skin against hers. I flicked the edge of her underwear. The elastic snapped against her skin quietly.

Her mind went blank for a second. "I, uh, I see," she said, her voice high-pitched. Her heart raced.

The elevator stopped on the top floor.

"You're staying in the penthouse?" Renée asked in surprise. _Really, really loaded._

I nodded with a smile. "A lovely place for lovely company," I said as I unlocked the door to the apartment.

My reasons for booking the penthouse were slightly morbid, in all actuality. I wanted privacy, a place where loud, usually female screams would not be overheard, a place from where I could easily remove a body without being seen. On some level, I also liked my innocent victims to have a memorable last night, even if it was had with a monster from nightmares. They didn't _deserve_ death, like the others I feasted on, but they _would_ die.

This was my measly effort to not be a complete cad. It needed to be a nice place to die, because once they reached my hotel room, there was no going back. Even if I were to reconsider killing them—I never did—it would likely be too late, the bloodlust too strong. I was already struggling with Renée. She was even more appetizing now that I had her alone.

_Everyone dies eventually_, I thought to myself, consolingly, trying to displace the guilt that always stirred deep in my belly when hunting innocents. Why _not_ now? Why _not_ this night for this plain woman beside me? I was just part of nature's balancing act. Right?

The penthouse of the five-star hotel was designed with a contemporary mindset, and Renée immediately loved it. She took in the beautiful colors, particularly the golds and yellows. Ironically, considering she was with me, it was the warmth she was attracted to. Warmth made her think of Arizona.

Cozy yellow walls that reached up for fifteen feet were accented with dark brown leather couches, warm reds and greens and blues. Thick rugs were scattered along the wood flooring. There were no overhead lights, only soft glowing lamps that added a romantic luminosity to every corner. I hadn't paid much mind to the décor before now, as I saw it through Renée's eyes. I supposed it was nice.

I knew from experience that humans sometimes felt awkward when entering into a scenario such as this—not that they knew what scenario _truly_ awaited them—and so I offered, "Would you like a drink? There's some wine."

Renée's thoughts took on a guilty edge that I didn't completely understand. She had been skirting around something big all night, compartmentalizing and shielding herself from what was really bothering her. I had met very few humans as successful at cutting off unwanted thought patterns as she was. "No, thank you," she said. "Mind if I look around?"

"Go ahead." I smiled. "I'll just be a moment."

As Renée roamed about the apartment, I went to the bathroom, put in new contact lenses, as my venom-coated eyes were wearing the others thin, and retrieved the bottle of heating oil I kept. Being of mostly early-century morals, I sometimes felt especially shameful when killing innocent women, and one of the ways I quelled this was by making them feel good before I drained them dry. The oil would heat their skin, making my coolness less noticeable—pleasurable, even—and a massage would arouse them. Endorphins, and typically alcohol, would render them utterly relaxed.

That was when I'd sink my teeth in.

I never had sex with them, though they all wanted it at some point or another; I rarely even kissed them, if I could help it. They were too fragile, to begin with, and I'd never been attracted to any of them. With my eyes, human flaws were glaringly obvious—unsightly freckles and scars and moles, acne pockmarks that probably even my victims couldn't see on themselves, were all on display. Hearing their thoughts usually made them rather unattractive as well.

The latter was a problem I had with both my species and theirs, frankly. I'd had sex twice since I was turned into a vampire in 1921, and neither time was even as pleasurable as what I could do for myself. It was too difficult to enjoy myself when all that filled my head were thoughts from the woman I was with—thoughts of what _she_ wanted, what _she_ felt. Thoughts were loud and uncensored in moments of passion; they were very difficult to ignore, nearly impossible to block. There was no room left for me to think of what I wanted or felt.

I was very lucky that hairy palms were only a myth.

I found Renée in the large master bedroom. No lights were on, but the room was still well lit, as a large window made up one wall. A full moon and city lights cast an ethereal, blue glow into the space, making the petite human standing in front of the glass appear almost alien.

I laughed inwardly. If anyone in the room was alien, it was _not_ Renée.

Standing in the doorway, I listened to her drifting thoughts.

_Shouldn't be doing this. I don't even know him. I need to be more responsible now… I don't know how, though. How could this have happened? I'm too young for this. How do I go to college now? I can't stay in Forks, but I guess I'll have to for a little while… Shit. I can't do this alone. I hope Mom'll help me. I'd love to give it up…but I just can't... A part of me wants it._

I thought she was about to reveal what was troubling her, but she suddenly sensed my presence, even though I was standing statue-still and not breathing.

_He's here._

Renée turned around and gave me a small smile. It still seemed forced.

I strode to her and looked down at her pale face. She had soft, girlish features and couldn't be older than nineteen or twenty. As I looked at her, my still heart gave a phantom clench—a twinge of guilt, but also something else. I had no feelings for the woman before me—she was my meal—but something about her, something I couldn't place, made me want to make everything better for her.

However, the simple fact was I was going to kill her. Guilt-ridden or not, I always killed, always struck like the ruthless viper I was.

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I didn't feel comfortable doing anything else. Her thoughts warmed to my gentleness, and I found myself oddly unnerved for some reason.

I needed to make this quick.

Renée, seemingly oblivious to my nature, even though she was not the least bit inebriated, launched herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck. She hugged herself tightly to my chest as I looked down at her brown hair in shock. Her movement had been completely spontaneous, without a single thought, and I'd not been able to lighten the blow her body must have felt when she crashed into me.

Her thoughts were not sexual now.

_Just hold me. Hold me. Please._

So I did.

I smelled the salt of tears and pulled away slightly, feeling the twinge in my chest again. "Renée?"

She tried to bury herself against my shirt. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice rough like sandpaper.

I sighed into her hair. Who was I kidding? I couldn't be her fix-it man. I needed to end this.

Bending at the knee and resting my hands on her waist, I leaned into the side of her face. This close, with no other distracting scents in the room, I could smell her blood freely. And, oh, it burned sweetly. Gardenia and honeysuckle and somewhere, deep down underneath all of that, the faintest hint of freesia and perhaps lavender. It was these undertones of her blood that were so brilliantly enticing. I wanted to _bathe_ in this blood.

The bloodlust blurred my vision. Venom flooded my mouth. I licked her skin, felt the thumping pulse of her heart with my tongue.

She closed her eyes with a sigh. _I'm so sorry,_ she thought. _I shouldn't do this to you, Charlie. And to the baby…a baby. I can't believe I'm going to be a mom. I shouldn't be doing this._ The vivid image of an in-home pregnancy test entered her thoughts. _Positive_.

Gasping for freedom from the burn in my throat, I jerked away from her, roughly shoving her away at the same time. The monster roared furiously inside of me.

"What the hell! You're _pregnant_?" I yelled. A strange, blinding rage consumed me on behalf of the defenseless infant she was endangering. My body shook.

Renée's eyes widened. "What? How do you know that?" She flattened her hands over her stomach and looked down. "I'm not showing yet, am I? Oh my God." _Too young. I'm too young for this._

I scoffed. "You're worried about _that_?" I shook my head. "What was that tonight? You _drank_."

"Only half a bottle of beer," she mumbled, looking away from me guiltily.

I got up in her face, ignoring the burn. I could smell the hormones of her pregnancy now. How had I been so stupid? It seemed so painfully obvious now. I'd been so caught up by her blood and whatever it was about her that interested me that I had somehow completely missed these other scents. "You nearly _died_ tonight," I said through gritted teeth.

She paled as adrenaline flooded her system in a single violent flush. Her heart thudded, and my throat blazed until I was forced to lean away again. "What?" Her voice was the faintest of ghostly whispers.

"I nearly _killed_ you," I replied honestly. "I was just about to take your life before you thought about the child."

Her widened. "You heard what I was _thinking_? You read minds?" _Jesus, what's he heard me think tonight?_

"Stop thinking of yourself for a second, Renée. Your _child_ is very lucky I knew what you were thinking," I spat. I pointed toward the doorway. "Now get the fuck out. Go back to your husband. Be a fucking _adult_." I grabbed money from my wallet and shoved it into her hands. "Get a taxi and go back to Forks." I grabbed her arm harshly enough that I knew it would leave a bruise. "And don't tell anyone of tonight," I added. "Ever. I _will_ know if you do." I probably wouldn't, but she didn't know that.

Tears of embarrassment, confusion and fear streamed down her face as she turned to leave. "I'm sorry. So sorry." _I knew this was wrong. I knew. Never should've run away tonight…_

"It's not _me_ you should be apologizing to!"

Nodding and crying harder, she ran from the bedroom, through the sitting area, and out of the apartment, the heels of her boots clicking on the hardwood flooring. I heard her sobs and beating heart as she frantically entered the elevator. Her mind was filled with sudden gratefulness for the life she held within, but it was mainly because she knew it had saved _her_ life this night. _I'll keep you… I'll keep you… I'm so sorry, baby… I'll be better for you, I promise…_

I took a deep breath and looked down at my shaking hands.

I'd nearly killed a child. _A true innocent._ Someone who'd never had a choice or a chance. It went against everything I believed in, even as a killer. I had my morals.

My breathing was ragged when I fell to my knees.

The burning thirst was still there. My body didn't care what I felt or thought. It still wanted the blood that Renée had so unwittingly been offering on a silver platter.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Even worse, what was wrong with _me_? I was so arrogant. I didn't make these kinds of inexperienced mistakes anymore. Or so I'd thought.

Standing angrily, I clawed the contact lenses from my eyes and flicked them to the floor. I stood before a mirror and stared at the red eyes that met me. When I looked at my reflection, they were all I saw, because they had swallowed up everything, taken my soul, taken the man, taken everything I'd ever had. I had become these eyes. Tonight proved that. They were a monster's eyes—mocking, hungry and utterly evil. They represented death.

I had taken over three thousand lives in my time.

"This has to stop," I said aloud.

It was not the first time I had said this, but this was a new low, a new mistake, in a whole series of lows and mistakes, if I were to be honest with myself. This time felt different somehow, like a tipping point.

I'd fed on more than one innocent life in the last month, despite my rule of only doing so on the twelfth. In fact, I had all but stopped hunting the human miscreants. Their thoughts were too vile for me to want to associate with them all the time, and so I had taken to killing just as they would. I was no better. I killed innocents—those who appealed to me at their basest, chemical level—something they had absolutely no control over.

"_Murderer_," I accused.

_It's what you were made to be_, the monster countered. _There's no use fighting it._

I snarled, looking and sounding even more inhuman as I did so.

I'd nearly killed a child. I gripped my hair in my hands and stared at myself in horror. Children's minds were the only minds I truly delighted being in; they were perceptive, guileless, bizarrely imaginative. _Beautiful and wonderful._ I'd nearly stolen a future from an unborn child.

_Don't feel guilty about it. It's nature. This is what you were made to do._

Yes, _made_…and if I ever saw the bastard who'd turned me, I would tear him apart and burn him, one piece at a time, just to prolong his suffering. I had no illusions about whether killing him would soothe my anger—I knew it wouldn't—but it would stop him from ever doing to another what he had done to me.

He had made me a killer.

A smaller voice inside me, a tiny human voice that I'd not heard in decades, seemed to whisper, _You can choose to be something else._

But how?

I did not delight in what I was. I never had. Though the blood slicked my throat and temporarily quenched the burning, I had rarely taken a life—even a criminal's life—without feeling guilty afterward. It was nearly impossible to take a life, to hear a human's last thoughts, and _not_ feel guilty. I was fully aware that by killing them, I took away their chances to grow and change; I took them away from loved ones.

And now this.

I _had_ to find a way to change myself. I was tired of living for the hunt. I was tired of being a _slave_ to it. I wanted to change, but was it even possible for someone as unchanging as I?

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**_Author's Notes (June 8, 2010):_**_ Special thanks to **atxcullen**, **Clairebo**, **Eyes of Topaz** and **rachael1042** for helping me decide how to handle the points of view in this story and for their pre-reading goodness. Their reviews on my last story were so encouraging that they really propelled me on to this one quite nicely. Thanks, girlies. Also, a huge thanks to **ProjectTeamBeta** (betas ElleCC and gotellalice) for proofreading the first two chapters._

**_Author's Notes (January 24, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	2. TwentyOne Years of Swan Songs

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm02-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm02-music_

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**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 02: TWENTY-ONE YEARS OF SWAN SONGS**

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_I'm just a dead man,_  
_Lying on the carpet._  
_Can't find a heartbeat._  
_Make me breathe,_  
_I want to be a new man—_  
_Tired of the old one,_  
_Out with the old plan._

_"Dead Man" by Jars of Clay_

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**EDWARD MASEN**  
_March 27, 1987_

Six weeks passed. The thirst was unbearable, and my face was becoming gaunt from starvation, the purple circles beneath my eyes deep and ugly. I knew it was only a matter of time now…a matter of how many days or hours or minutes passed before I took another life.

I refused to take another human life.

I stole blood from a Seattle blood bank.

I was still taking from innocents.

* * *

_April 28, 1987_

Five weeks this time. The flames roared.

There had to be a substitute for human blood.

I decided to try human food. Its revolting appearance and sometimes questionable smell had been enough to make me steer clear of it since my change, but perhaps my system could still tolerate it.

I bought a T-bone steak and ate it raw. It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever put in my mouth, which was saying something, considering my usual fare. Upon the slightest contact with my teeth, the meat shredded and mashed. The blood was cold and unappetizing. The congealed, rubbery fat was the worst part.

With my overly-sensitive body, I felt it descend. I felt how it slithered down my throat, doing nothing to slake the fire that resided there. I felt as it passed through my esophagus, how it _dropped_ to the bottom of my stomach to sit there as a heavy, uncomfortable, anchor-like weight.

Lesson in vampire anatomy learned. I had no stomach acid. Human food was officially out. Now what?

I had to get rid of it.

The food came back up as whole chunks of meat cradled in shredded and pulverized bits of red meat and white fat. It was coated in my venom.

Disgusting.

* * *

_June 2, 1987_

Ten weeks had passed since I'd had my last bag of blood, and for the first time in my existence, I felt weak, almost tired. I hardly felt the burn now, though rationally I knew that it was all-consuming. The pain had become my companion in the moments when the monster inside was kind enough to let me be.

Maybe I'd finally die, like I should have all those years ago. Maybe starvation was the key. I'd be all right with dying. The world would be better off. I wondered what waited on the other side for me. I thought it might be hell, but surely hell could be no worse than this.

I lay on my side on the hotel bed in the Seattle penthouse, staring out at the city dispassionately. I'd stayed here, because I didn't know where else to go. It was afternoon, and a deep fog had set over half of the buildings that were within sight from the west-facing window.

My mind wandered as I watched afternoon drift into night. I thought of Renée and wondered how she was. She would be at least four months pregnant now—showing, beginning to feel life within. I sent a silent prayer to a god I didn't think I believed in to keep the child safe. The child's welfare was unfathomably important to me.

Perhaps I was grateful to the life Renée carried, grateful that through such an unnerving experience I had found something to grasp onto, something worth changing for. Though my body was working against me at every turn, not taking a human life had altered something within me, made me feel somehow more human. I was still a monster, though. I could never forget that.

Several times now I'd considered visiting Forks, only to realize the absurdity of a vampire protecting a woman and her child, particularly when he was essentially an addict working so hard to abstain from human blood; the last thing I needed was temptation. I was less likely to be a protector than a predator, and so I did the best I could: I prayed daily to a god that had long ago forsaken my soulless existence. _If you're listening, please keep them safe. _

* * *

_June 3, 1987_

Blood.

Warm and salty.

Screw sainthood. Screw starvation. I couldn't take it anymore.

I stole from another blood bank.

* * *

_September 13, 1987_

I sipped from the bag of blood and wondered how Renée was, if she'd had the baby, if she was still with Charlie, if she was living in Forks. I grabbed a second pint as I recalled the luscious undertones of her blood.

* * *

_February 12, 1991_

Three and a half years had passed since I'd met Renée. I was in Billings, Montana now, sitting in a park and starving myself again, tempting myself with the sweet blood of those who walked past. In time, I knew I'd steal from another poorly-stocked blood bank, but for now I could simply be myself; the burn was there, but it wasn't as all-consuming as it once had been. I was, quite surprisingly, learning.

Since giving up the hunt that night, I'd felt more humanlike. My thoughts weren't consumed with bloodlust and hunting strategies. Suddenly, the expansiveness that was my vampire brain had even more room to focus on things that were harmless and enjoyable. _Human_, even.

I watched movies, read books, listened to music.

I'd done all these things throughout the decades, but now I had the ability to give them my undivided attention. I read Shakespeare and didn't think of blood above the words on the pages. I watched _The Princess Bride_ and laughed with the other moviegoers, instead of plotting to cull the herd.

I was different.

More man than monster? I doubted that, but it was a nice thought.

No matter what, my sins followed me everywhere I went.

* * *

_August 19, 1996_

I bought a house on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon, in a town called Damascus. It felt like the right thing to do, like it would ground me to this new, nonviolent lease on life. Nomadic life presented far too many temptations.

The house was easy running distance to three blood banks.

* * *

_August 22, 1996_

If I chose not to think about it, I could almost convince myself that the voices coming from my television were people in my home. To acknowledge the truth, that I was utterly alone, was unbearable.

* * *

_August 28, 1996_

I bought a sleek, black concert grand piano.

Would my mother be pleased to know that I remembered how to play, that though her face was an increasingly blurry memory, I remembered her hands guiding mine on the ivory and coal black keys?

I played "Sweet Hour of Prayer" first. It was her favorite. I couldn't remember her ever playing it, or my playing it with her, but somewhere deep down, I remembered her love for it.

_I will miss her forever._

Would she regret that she gave her life for mine, such as it was?

* * *

_July 19, 1997_

Nine years of an almost eerie solitude had passed both sluggishly and swiftly. The guilt continued to eat away at my gut like a squirming tapeworm, no matter how much I endeavored to ignore it. I saw their faces, felt their presence, heard their angry, hurt cries, as well as their more resigned whimpers. It was then that I learned that the living—or the somewhat alive, in my case—kept the dead preserved far more effectively than any memorial ever could.

My blood-crazed nomadic years had been so distracting, so fuelled by bloodlust, that I'd never stopped to grieve my own human life. I had certainly never given my victims any thought.

Now they were all I thought about.

So I found myself writing down the name of every innocent life I'd ever taken. When I was finished, five hundred and sixteen names filled four pieces of college-ruled notebook paper. They belonged to the people I never should have touched, the people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and whose bloodless bodies were rarely ever found, because I'd thrown them in lakes and rivers and oceans or concealed them deep in the ground.

I frowned and gripped at my hair. I hadn't realized how many innocents I'd killed, but nearly a fifth of my killings were of these blameless souls. I had chosen not to count them over the years, as if not knowing the depth of my own evil would somehow absolve me of my sins.

It didn't.

Sitting at my piano, I began to compose music in their memory. I tried to capture their essence in the compositions, tried to encapsulate their final streaming thoughts about life and love and anger and regret.

They were so beautifully flawed.

So human.

My fingers crashed down on the keys in frustration.

So long as I drank their blood, even from bags, I was still a monster.

I would never be human or anything remotely close to it.

If only I could run from myself.

* * *

_October 9, 1997_

I composed a lullaby for Renée's child.

I didn't know why. The little girl or boy would be ten this year—far past lullabies.

It was fucking absurd.

* * *

_March 21, 2001_

The Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra was playing my music, but they didn't know this.

Nor did they realize they were playing the swan songs of seven of my innocent victims.

Their melodic ghosts had become my sole companions since giving up the hunt.

* * *

_January 30, 2005_

Recovering alcoholics were right. Some days were much harder to cope with than others. For me, the days at the end of a month were hardest, because they were just before I would steal more blood. My body revolted most during this time; the thirst flared, my muscles bunched with unspent energy. I was a snarling, caged lion, and there was absolutely _nothing_ I could do about it.

_Feed_, the monster suggested.

_Feed._

_Feed._

_Feed._

Tonight I was even thirstier than usual. My mind obsessed not only over blood but also the hunt. I wanted to run. I wanted to trap my prey in a corner and slice my teeth through silken, sweat-soaked skin. I wanted the heady climax of an artery gushing adrenaline-spiced blood into my eager mouth and the sexual arousal I felt because of it. I desired the experience as much as I desired the blood this time.

Seventeen years of semi-sobriety were about to go down the hole.

I drove to downtown Portland, plotting as I wove through traffic. I would take a criminal. I wouldn't take an innocent. Taking out "one of the bad guys" was the lesser of evils, I decided, even if it was still a sin.

My self-control slipping steadily, I parked near the yawning mouth of an alleyway and jumped out of the car. The alleys were dark and slick, coated in a thin sheen of rainwater, car oil and soggy paper debris. Light reflected on the puddles as I strode through the shadows, my thirst directing my step. I smelled humans in the buildings around me, heard their beating hearts, but their thoughts were harmless, caught up in mundane things, like the weather or who should take the trash out. Few of them were even on the streets tonight.

I passed a greasy homeless man who asked for money. He was hungry, too, but he wasn't sure what he wanted more: a cheap burger or heroin. I could empathize, on some level. The hunt was my heroin. I threw down a hundred and kept walking, ignoring his joyful thank yous. I was afraid that if I stopped for one second longer, I'd latch myself onto his neck like the parasite I was.

Alley after alley, I searched…and found nothing. After decades of living a life in shadowed backstreets such as these, I had never encountered such a quiet night. Just my rotten luck. Apparently human violence _had_ declined since the Clinton years.

Maybe this was God trying to tell me to get my pale ass back home.

Letting out an anguished sigh, I slumped to the ground, resting my back and head against the cold metal of a foul-smelling dumpster. I could smell Chinese food and salmon rotting inside it.

The thirst did not abate.

No matter what I did, it was there. Sure, it was not as distracting as it once had been; removing the hunt from the volatile nature of the bloodlust had given me a piece of my humanity back, but it was only a small, tenuous piece. Tonight was proof of that.

I smelled the stray dog before he ambled around the alley corner. He was medium-sized, covered in a scruffy layer of fawn-colored shag that was caked with semi-dried mud. Dirt and animal death—odiferous scents of decay—clung to him; he'd undoubtedly rolled in something. Even so, it was his blood that I noticed most strongly. My throat burned to life again. Though his blood was nowhere near as appetizing as a human's, it was warm and alive nonetheless, pumping through his small and fragile chest. The heartbeat was faster than an average human's, fluttering at about one hundred beats per minute, even while at rest. I licked my lips.

The dog stopped at the edge of the alley and watched me with dark, cautious eyes, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. He whimpered, probably correctly sensing he was in the presence of a superior predator, one he had no chance of besting.

I stared back at him and wondered, _Can I drink from you?_ I swallowed venom. The notion was not entirely unappealing at this point.

But then the dog did something I didn't expect. Tongue dangling out the side of his mouth in a strange canine smile, he loped up to me and lay down beside my still form. He nudged my knee with his wet nose.

Despite my foul, frustrated mood and the pain in my throat, I found myself laughing at the animal's dimwitted pack instincts. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"

The dog tilted his head at me, as if considering my words. He snorted.

"I don't have any food for you," I said, my voice raspy from thirst. "In fact, _you_ may be _my_ food if you're not careful." The dog growled softly, and I laughed again. Without a second thought, I reached out and scratched the stupid animal behind an ear. He leaned into my cool touch happily, licking the side of my wrist. His breath smelled even worse than his hair and lingered on my skin, but the gentle contact gave me the same phantom clench in my chest that I'd experienced with Renée seventeen years earlier. That was the same number of years it had been since anyone had touched me, or I them.

"_Dammit_," I growled. I couldn't kill him. Not after he did that. _Stupid mutt._

Some predator I was.

But maybe I could kill another animal, a less cognizant one? A deer, perhaps? They were plentiful on the woodsy outskirts of Portland, if all the near-car-accidents with them were to be of any indication. Could animal blood be a substitute for human blood?

I could drive to a national park and…and then what? How would I even begin to hunt animals? I'd never even done that as a human. Could I just track them with my instincts, the same way I did with humans?

Still scratching at the dog's head and ears, I considered the possibilities. What if I _could_ drink from animals? It seemed a much more morally satisfying place to be on the food chain. Taking the life of an animal with little more awareness than a tree would surely feel less horrifying than taking the lives of people who could change and grow and live long, human lives; it would also solve the problem of my indirectly taking human life every time I stole from a blood bank—which was rather often, if I was being honest with myself.

And I wouldn't lose the hunt. It wouldn't be the same, surely, but it would be something.

I rose from the damp ground, a new, almost foreign hope deep in my chest. Maybe this was my redemption, my fresh start. I began to walk away, only to have the dog follow alongside me. "Shoo," I said. "Go on."

He stayed.

"You are one dumb creature," I told him, but for some reason I was smiling when I said this.

Oblivious, he lifted his leg on a wall.

We passed the homeless man again who hadn't yet decided what to do with his good fortune. He survived this time only thanks to my canine companion's stench.

When we reached my car several minutes later, I looked down at the dog with a scowl. "Why are you following me? What exactly do you expect me to do with you? I can't _keep_ you. You do have some sense of what I am, don't you?"

A growl rumbled in the dog's chest.

"Exactly my point." I pointed a finger at him. "So…just stay here." I walked to my side of the car. "_Stay_." It was strange talking to a creature whose thoughts I couldn't hear and who had no reliable means to reply.

As soon as I opened the car door, the dog jumped inside and scrambled over the console to the passenger's seat. I looked inside, more than a little flabbergasted. "You have a lot of nerve!" He was sitting up and looking out the front window as if he owned the vehicle himself. "Fine, be that way. But if I fucking drain you, I'm _not_ going to feel guilty. You may be more self-aware than other animals, but you're clearly just as dumb." Disgusted, I wiped off the muddy paw prints from my seat and got in.

I had to roll down all the windows in the car to tolerate the wet dog smell, not to mention his blood. I made the drive to Mount Hood National Forest as quickly as I could, pushing the car to its limits, the music of Tchaikovsky contrasting strangely with the dog's flapping gums as he leaned his head out the passenger side window. At least he wasn't getting carsick.

Avoiding the highways that veined through the forest, I found a skinny dirt road to park on. Though I'd lived on the outskirts of Portland for several years now, there were still lights near my home; the city was nearly inescapable even from that distance, the stars more difficult to see at night through the light pollution. Here, it was pitch black, and there were no inner voices filtering through to my head. Utter silence, utter darkness.

My eyes saw all the details that humans would miss at night, but it was nonetheless startling to see how different life was in a more rural area. I'd spent so many decades going from one city to another in search of humans to drink from that I hadn't enjoyed something so pastoral in years. It was soothing.

I let out a deep sigh. "Well, let's see if this works." I looked over at the smelly dog beside me. "You should really stay in the car. If you wander off, I'm not looking for you."

Talking to a dog. _In my car._ Unbelievable. Apparently after a century, there were still things that could surprise me.

I got out and looked around before sprinting off toward the east, heading for deeper, thicker forest. Running felt amazing, and before I had much time to think about what I was doing, I was moving as swiftly as I possibly could, pushing my leg muscles, feeling the tendons and ligaments move at my slightest command. Being a vampire, they would never grow tired or weaken or become injured.

There were many times I had run in my life, either to or from something, but this time felt more significant than all the others. It felt freeing after so many years of trying to rein in my darker, more animalistic side. As I ran, I realized that I had to find my own balance, one that would allow me to maintain what I could of my human nature, but also one that would allow me to channel the instincts that looked to threaten my humanity at every turn.

Give and take.

Yin and yang.

Balance. I needed balance.

Instinct was what stopped me cold in the middle of the forest. I smelled blood. More bitterly tangy than a human's, but still delicious, especially now, especially if I could hunt it. I listened as the blood gushed through valves that flickered open and closed like the shutter mechanism in a camera. My senses homed in on this one sound and scent, as if all else in the world depended on it.

And then I was running again, _to_ something this time.

My brain, as highly evolved as it was, struggled to keep up with my body as I dove toward a stag that only had enough time to hear me and begin to turn away from my attack. It wasn't enough to save him, not even enough for me to give chase.

His body fell to the forest floor with mine, and a part of me cheered inwardly when he struggled. He did so with more passion and strength than any human I'd ever killed. A primal dance commenced, a pointed antler scraping along my shoulder and neck, shredding my shirt; my nearly indestructible skin remained unharmed.

Clamping my legs around his body, I jerked the writhing animal's neck to one side, growling as I exposed his thumping jugular vein. He snorted and gave a high-pitched cry, but his struggle was futile. My mouth opened with a hiss, and I clamped downward, tearing at his throat, through hair and hide, with sharp teeth.

The syrupy liquid that rushed over my tongue and down my burning throat tasted nearly as woodsy as its owner smelled, but it was not entirely unpleasant. I pulled and pulled, craving more, thirsty after nearly a month of starvation. He held nearly five liters of blood, about as much as what was in most human bodies.

When I finished, I sluggishly rose to my feet, my brain gradually returning from the frenzied haze. I noted that the burn was not soothed entirely by the blood. It remained—not a raging wildfire, but a smoldering bed of ash that I suspected might still catch fire easily around humans. I could live with that. I could control that. Unable to forget the incident with human food, I focused on my stomach, trying to determine whether the blood had settled properly.

It had.

I stared down at the stag's carcass in silent awe. "Thank you," I said to the lifeless body, suddenly overwhelmed and extremely grateful. I leaned down on one knee and closed the animal's eyes. I left him for the scavengers to enjoy.

_Balance._

Another two deer later, I could almost feel the blood sloshing around in my body. I ran around the forest for another hour, enjoying the fresh dew and misty fog as morning neared. I felt like a new man. Or monster.

_Semantics._

The dog was asleep in the passenger's seat when I returned, his chin resting on the center console, a steady flow of drool pooling on the leather interior. Disgusting as he was, I smiled at him—genuinely smiled. Whatever it was that screwed up his sense of self-preservation, I was grateful for that, too. Animals had always been so afraid of me that I'd rarely been near one for very long, certainly not long enough, or in the right conditions, for me to ever note that their blood could be even remotely appetizing, could be a _substitute_.

I had no desire to eat the dog, though I felt the smoldering burn flicker a little more brightly as I sat beside him. Frankly, I wanted to crush his silly little body with a hug.

I patted his head, instead, making sure to temper my strength and pressure. "Since it looks like I'm going to keep you, I suppose you need a name," I said as he woke and looked at me with strangely trusting, brown eyes.

A human memory flashed before my mind's eye of a dusty-haired, giant Irish Wolfhound playing with me and another boy whose name and facial details were lost to time and space. We were on a grassy hill that was covered in dandelion weeds. The memory faded to black as a voice I distantly recognized as my own from childhood called out to the dog. "Buster! C'mere, boy!" Perhaps he was named after Keaton, given the era.

Slightly less upbeat after that memory, I looked sideways at the dog beside me and shook my head. "You're not a Buster, I don't think."

The dog had slowly but surely begun snuffling at my shirt, obviously smelling the deer and blood. It was unbelievable that he was tenacious enough to go shoving his nose around the alpha male in the car. "You're very lucky I don't want to eat you," I told him as he grunted against my rib cage.

I named him Lucky.

* * *

_February 2, 2005_

While opening a music shop's swinging glass door, I saw my reflection. The last of my contact lenses had worn out under the venom hours ago, but I had decided to risk interacting with humans, red eyes and all.

But my eyes were not red.

_They had turned golden! _

Turning around, I left the shop and went straight home. I removed the covers from the bathroom mirrors and stared at myself in amazement.

* * *

_October 19, 2005_

Lucky and I led a quiet life. I walked him at five each morning and at eight every night. In doing so, I learned that what little about me there was that hadn't before lured women—and some men—was now negated by Lucky's overly-friendly presence. We walked in rural areas only, as a result. It wasn't that I wasn't a people person. It was that at any moment I might be a people-_eating_ person.

I had a near-ritual of jerking off in the shower at ten o'clock at night, mainly due to boredom. That was the only downside to not hunting humans. This existence became even duller.

I composed during the day, while Lucky slept like a cat in the rectangular sun spot by the window, his ears twitching each time I changed key. I hunted weekly and brought home some of the deer carcasses, which I cleaned and cut for Lucky's dinner. It was much healthier for him than the dry food humans passed off as suitable for carnivorous canines.

I was heartbroken the day I realized the dumb mutt would not live with me forever.

* * *

_March 10, 2006_

Some days were still harder than others.

On these days, all I thought about was killing my maker.

When the opportunity came, I would kill him and everything dear to him for doing this to me.

* * *

_November 13, 2007_

No matter how much music I created, it would never be enough to bring them back to their loved ones.

I kept trying, but revisiting my sins could be so exhausting, even for one who didn't sleep.

* * *

_September 2, 2008_

Since changing my so-called life, I had sold the rights to most of my pieces to other pianists. Concert pianists played my music around the world, taking credit for notes they'd never penned. It satisfied me, however. My victims' songs needed to be heard, and I—forever frozen at twenty—could not share them myself.

Reclusive pianist Alexander Jang was one of the few musicians I truly enjoyed dealing with; he was a mild-mannered man, soft-spoken and only extroverted when in front of a piano. And though he never contradicted the assumptions that he was the composer of the works I gave him, he did not confirm these notions, either. All but agoraphobic, he only ventured out for two concerts a year, both in Seattle, where he lived. One was coming up soon, and he was fretting.

Troubled by my most recent composition, he emailed me, asking that I visit him. I laughed when I realized human hands would probably struggle playing what I had planned for that particular piece. I would need to change it slightly.

But did I want to see him in Seattle in the process?

I could handle being around humans now—mostly. That wasn't the issue. The issue was that I'd not been back to Seattle in the last twenty-one years. In the end, though, it felt like it was perhaps time to face the red-eyed demon I left behind there.

I sent a reply to Alexander.

**TO:** Alexander Jang  
**FROM:** E.A. Masen  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Rebecca's Lamentation

Dear Mr. Jang,

Some of "Rebecca's Lamentation" may indeed prove difficult. We can change it, if you'd like. I can be there by the twelfth to help you. While I'm there, why don't we go over all of the pieces I've sent, just so you feel comfortable for your upcoming concert?

Do you know of any inns in Seattle that permit dogs?

Sincerely,  
Edward Masen

* * *

**_Author's Notes (June 15, 2010):_**_ Special thanks again to my pre-readers, **atxcullen**, **Clairebo**, **Eyes of Topaz** and **rachael1042**, as well as to Project Team Beta's **ElleCC** and **gotellalice**. _

**_Author's Notes (January 24, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	3. Balancing Acts for the Graceless

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm03-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm03-music_

_Welcome to Bella's introductory chapter. She'll seem very out of character at first, but I promise she's got a strong canon background and reasons for turning into the person she has._

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 03: BALANCING ACTS FOR THE GRACELESS**

* * *

_"Anything that can go wrong, will—at the worst possible moment."_

_Finagle's Law of Dynamic Negatives_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
_September 13, 2008_

"Well, folks, it's one of those rare, sunny Saturdays here in Port Angeles, so come on down to Steve's Lawn Care Center for our big, annual autumn sale. We've got everything you could possibly want for your garden and backyard—from plants, to outdoor furniture, to lawnmowers and grills, we've got you cover—"

I slammed my hand down on the snooze button. Again. Steve and his "lawn care center" could go to hell.

I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but my head was pounding. It was like I was hung over but hadn't had the pleasure of an awesome night to warrant it. I groaned and pressed my cheek into the pillow.

The past few months had taught me that a lack of sleep, copious amounts of coffee and the occasional Adderall could do this to you. I cracked an eye open and looked back at my offending alarm clock.

I froze against my pillow.

Twelve.

_As in 12:00 p.m.?_

_Shit! I'm late! Really, really late!_

I jumped out of bed like it was on fire, dragging sheets with me. They crumpled to the floor with a soft, fabric sigh that made me want to grab them back up and bury my head in them.

Sometimes having the attic room sucked. Now was one of those times as I stumbled down the stairs, tearing through the house in only my baggy sleep shirt and underwear. I, of course, took the opportunity to harm myself by stubbing my toe on the doorframe to the laundry room. I just wouldn't be Bella Swan without some daily self-injury. "Goddammit!" I shouted as I bounced around on one foot. I tried to suck down a deep breath, but struggled to do so.

Why was it when you needed to take deep breaths, you never felt you could?

One of my housemates and closest friends, Lauren Mallory, came to stand in the connecting kitchen. She eyed me in alarm, a bowl of steaming oatmeal balanced in one hand. She was a late-riser and was just getting out of bed herself, but she looked so put-together standing there. Sure, it was put-together in that skinny, punk rocker I'll-kick-your-ass-if-you-wrong-me sort of way, but it was more than could be said of me.

The tables had turned. There had been a time when I didn't think anything in Lauren's life would be functional. Now look at us. She was practically a CEO to my hobo. And Lauren was still in college this semester, even if it was just at Port Angeles Peninsula College. More than could be said of me. "Are you okay?" she asked, her pretty hazel eyes large.

I stared at her. Did she really have to ask?

"I am _so_ _not_ okay," I answered in my high-pitched, hysterical voice that made me sound just like my mother Renée. I wobbled unsteadily, favoring the leg with the stubbed toe, as I dug through the massive pile of dirty clothes that belonged to me. Overflowing from my laundry basket, they had essentially taken over the room, starting in June. We were in the middle of September now.

It was a wonder that Lauren and Angela Weber, my other housemate, could even get to the washing machine, and an even greater wonder that they'd not chewed me out for being such an inconsiderate slob. I'd have to apologize to them on behalf of my fucked up life later. Again.

I looked over at Lauren who was still watching me interestedly while spooning oatmeal into her mouth. I couldn't blame her, really. I knew watching me was like that car crash you inevitably slowed down to see; you felt guilty as hell, but damned if you didn't slow down, just the same, all the while telling yourself that it was just about checking to see if the people involved were okay. We all know the truth, though.

I turned back to the green t-shirt clutched in my fist that had _Forks' Finest_ in cracked and faded white across its front. I was about to do something very disgusting with this shirt and didn't really want an audience.

Fuck, I was late.

_Fine._

_Whatever._

Lauren had put up with all my other shit.

I shoved the shirt up to my face and breathed deeply. _It hardly smells! Yes! My day is turning around already!_ I had learned to count my blessings—dirty, yet miraculously non-smelly clothing and all.

"Did you really just _smell_ your shirt?" Lauren asked me. She sounded amused and appalled, all at once. We kind of felt the same way, really.

_God, I'm a train wreck. _

"You didn't see a thing," I said as I pulled off my sleep shirt and put on the dirty green one. I grabbed the deodorant from my pile of clothes and put some on; I didn't know when I'd started to let it take up residence in the laundry room, but I was thankful for it being here now. Smoothing out the wrinkles as best I could, I turned to her and jutted out my small bust. "No bra. How badly can you see the nips?" I pointed rather unnecessarily to the two tiny peaks that were poking out beneath an _F_ and an_ E_.

Lauren's brows rose. "Not enough to turn me on, but, uh, you know this sun won't last. So, you know…the cold…"

I shrugged. "I'll be inside, and my work apron should mostly cover it. Maybe." Or maybe I'd get better tips from men today. It was doubtful. I didn't have Lauren's looks.

I found a couple of mismatched socks and one miraculously clean pair of underwear—a yellow bikini that cheerily announced _Wednesday_ in pretentious rainbow colors across the back. It was fucking Saturday.

_Whatever_. It went with _Forks' Finest_ nipples and my dirty jeans, which would probably crawl away from my body any day now. I was past caring. Slipping on shoes and a barn jacket that had once belonged to my dad, I ran past Lauren, grabbing my keys off the kitchen counter.

"I know you're late and all, but don't you want something to eat before you go?" she asked, waving her spoon at me.

I shook my head and threw my messy bed-hair up into a bun, leaving just enough hair out of the tie to cover the large, unsightly scar that ran from my right temple to my jaw. "Nah, I'm fine." I smiled at her as best I could and waved goodbye.

I was hungry, but the truth was I was also broke after the last round of bills I'd had to pay and wasn't eating much until my next paycheck. That would be from the bookstore—next Friday. People all over the world lived on less than one meal a day, so I didn't feel too bad about it, even though my stomach was growling in protest as I hightailed it to Hal's Backyard Barbeque, which was where I had my second job. I hated working at Hal's, but it made up the majority of my income, so I couldn't exactly quit.

Hal's was your typical bar and grill. It wasn't a franchise, but it might as well have been, as it looked for all the world like an Applebee's or Ruby Tuesday, right down to the kitsch license plates and black and white photographs of people none of us knew that were plastered on its inner walls. It was a big place with big parking spaces for big assholes in big SUVs that took up a whole corner of a concrete shopping plaza.

And the biggest asshole of all?

My boss, Judy Sanders.

I knew she'd be on me as soon as I walked through the door. Judging by the packed parking lot and the fact that it was a Saturday at lunchtime, Hal's was busy today, and being short an employee _always_ rankled Judy. But to be down an employee, who didn't call in beforehand, because she _overslept_? Unacceptable. Judy took this restaurant very seriously, as if it was the most important thing in her life, and to screw that up was a bad idea.

Sure enough, as soon as I got through the massive double, wooden doors, Judy was stomping right in my direction, looking just like one of the crazed bulls the news always showed from Spain's Running of the Bulls.

I didn't like to label people, but there really wasn't any better way to describe Judy other than "butch dyke." She had pitch black hair that was cropped close to her meaty head and pasty white skin that was prone to flushing when she was angry. She also had an accent from living in the Bronx that screamed, "I'm going to beat you with my purple strap-on." No one knew if she was a lesbian, in all actuality, but she did look like she wanted to makes us her prison bitches.

And Judy hated me more than all the other employees combined. _On a good day._

"Swan!" she whisper-shouted, so none of the surrounding patrons would be alarmed. Her face was splotched red. "You are _two hours late_." She looked at her wrist, as if to check the time, even though she didn't wear a watch. "What the fuck? Do you _see_ how busy we are?"

"Yes, I—"

"Well, _good_, because we're _always_ this busy. Which you'd know, if you were ever here on time. It'd be fucking great if you could show up and _do your job_."

My eyes widened. "I do my job!" I protested in the same hissing whisper. "I usually come right on time. I haven't been late like this since…" _Oh, dammit._ Me and my big mouth. Since last Wednesday, which was the day I'd last worked at Hal's. _Shit, shit, shit._ How had I forgotten?

Judy openly laughed at me and the mortified expression that must surely have been plastered on my face. I felt a heated blush rise to my cheeks. "Look, Swan, I don't know what you got going on in your personal life. I don't give a flying fuck, really. But it's affecting my business, and when you start affecting me, we got a problem. Now go grab your apron and get to work. Today's your last day."

I gasped as she started to walk away and scrabbled to grab her wrist, hoping to God she wouldn't view that as harassment. "_Please_, Judy," I whispered fiercely as I gripped onto her thick skin. "I _need_ this job." She had no idea how much I needed it. How much my father needed me to have it.

"Guess you should've considered that before showing up two hours late. Two times in a row. Now do the last bit of your job or get the hell out."

"One more chance," I whispered. I knew I was begging and looked ridiculous, but it didn't matter. I had to beg. I didn't have the time or money to go looking for another dead-end job.

Yanking her wrist away from me, she crossed her arms over her large bust line and eyed me up and down for several long seconds. She grunted finally and said, "Fine. One more chance. And you better be on your toes today. _I'll be watching._ Hal is going to be here, you know."

She still made it sound like the Second Coming, and she'd been talking about his visit for the last month and a half.

She left me standing there, then, and began making her rounds with the customers; it was strange to watch her brusque demeanor swiftly change to something akin to friendliness. I guess we all wore masks like that for money.

After that ordeal, I looked around the restaurant and saw several diners were watching me with sideways glances that I'm sure they thought were inconspicuous. Some of them just seemed curious, but others…others were looking at me with contempt, as if I was part of the problem with society. _One of those slackers_. The attention was humiliating, and all I wanted to do was run away and hide forever. Instead, I took a deep breath, ducked my chin and headed toward the kitchen for my apron. I needed the money. I could wait until after my shift to break down and cry.

People came and went, and I forced a smile on my face until I thought my cheeks would break from all the sweet falsities. I yes-ma'amed and no-sirred to the older customers and at least attempted to flirt with the middle-aged, fat businessmen who leered at my breasts and butt like they didn't even know I had eyes. Their tips were worth it, or so I told myself. It hurt more when they only tipped ten percent; that always made me feel like a whore.

At two, I suddenly realized it was my twenty-first birthday. I'd completely forgotten. The big two-one. It was just a blip on my emotional radar. My birthdays were always horrible, so it was just as well that I probably wouldn't be around anyone who wanted to celebrate today. I was really hoping that Angela and Lauren had forgotten, too.

Like I said, my birthdays were always horrible, but this birthday…well, it really took the proverbial cake.

I'd never met Hal Watson. Apparently he owned three bar and grill restaurants in the country, the one here in Port Angeles, Washington, where his ex-wife and daughter still supposedly resided, one in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and another in Midland, Texas, where he and his oil-rich family were from. The rumor was that he visited Port Angeles once a year to crawl up Judy's ass and make sure she was doing her job, slap a big check into his Botoxed ex-wife's grubby hands, and to take his daughter shopping with his no-limit credit card, just so she wouldn't completely hate his guts for not ever being in her life.

I knew Hal as soon as he walked in, just by his pompous looks. He had a golden, southern tan that was weathering his skin and a massive potbelly that rounded his body with a muffin-top that was barely contained by a blue, button-down shirt. Then there was the cowboy hat that he made a big show of removing. He was no cowboy, though. No cowboy could ever be so fat. It was all for show and style.

I couldn't stand people like this. It made me think of my first boyfriend, Jacob Black, and how I had been the trophy on his arm until he'd replaced me with Cindy. Sometimes I thought our relationship had all been for show, that it hadn't meant anything.

As if God himself was punishing me today, Hal took one look at me from the doorway and walked past the waitress who was trying to show him to a table. "Why hi there"—he looked at the nametag on my chest for several seconds longer than necessary—"Isabella. I own this restaurant, you know. Care to seat me, sweetheart?"

_Oh, a chauvinist. Great. _But I smiled, because he was loaded, and he would probably tip me like he was. "Sure thing, sir," I said in a sugar-sweet tone. "Glad to have you here in Washington." I wasn't.

I didn't make the rookie mistake and seat him at a booth. He'd never fit comfortably. Instead, I led him to a secluded table with a nice view…of our surrounding concrete. Well, it was a window, at least. Hal could soak up the sun that was quickly fading, probably much to Lawn Care Center Steve's dismay.

As Hal plopped down on to the dark wood chair beside the table, I listened to it squeak and creak in protest. _Please don't break while I'm here… Please, please. _That would just be too embarrassing for both of us—though probably more for me than him, if truth be told. He looked like he'd broken a couple of chairs in his life.

"Well, Isabella, I already know what I want, so you don't even gotta bring me a menu." Unabashedly, he looked at my apron-covered chest and said, "I want a rack. Full, of course. I'm a big boy, as you can tell."

_Blech._

I smiled my best million-dollar smile. "Perfect! Veggies, fries or baked potato?"

"Fries, of course."

_Of course._

"And to drink?"

"Sweet tea."

I didn't even try to tell him that he was too far north, too far west for the tea to be anything but unsweetened by default, because I knew what we'd be doing in the back minutes from now: making this man some "proper" fucking sweet tea. Judy would have no less for Hal.

I thanked him, fake-smiled again and made to move away before he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me back. If I'd not been so shocked by his brazenness, I might have said something, but as it was, all I could do was stare at him with my mouth agape.

"Bring me coffee, too, sweetheart," he said with a full-cheeked smile. "I'm jetlagged as all get out." Then he tucked a twenty in my back pocket, while I just nodded and wanted to crawl out of my skin.

For about ten seconds, I seriously considered spitting in his food. _Really_ spitting, like an old Quileute Indian friend of mine had taught me to do—hock it up from my toes. But I wanted that tip, and I needed this job, so with a sigh I ignored the harassment, put in Hal's order and grabbed one of the coffeepots.

Judy intercepted me before leaving the kitchen. "Swan, take this one," she said, handing me a different coffeepot. "It's fresh and just for Hal."

Oh, good. The grabby-hands bastard got his own pot of coffee.

As I walked away from Judy, I felt tears building in my eyes. I sometimes cried when I was angry, and I was furious now. Furious at what my life had become, at how I _had_ to live, and how I had to put up with annoying pricks like Hal Watson and Judy Sanders, all because of money—or lack thereof, really. It just wasn't fair.

I laughed at myself. Life wasn't fair.

Life _did _have a sense of irony, however.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. A few feet from Hal's table, I brought my free hand up to my eyes, to rub away my angry tears with a wrist, but doing so seemed to make me lose balance. I tripped on pure air—something I'd not done in awhile and definitely, most definitely, did _not_ need to do today, much less here and now.

The coffeepot jerked upward in my hand as I tried to steady myself, and black, near-boiling liquid lifted out of its triangular mouth, spurting like oil from the ground. Gravity did the rest. It plunged downward, straight for Hal's lap. I didn't even have time to warn him before it was landing right on his crotch, and I was landing on my knees just before his table.

Hal screamed like a five-year-old girl and cupped his balls.

Still on the restaurant floor, I bent my head, unable to look at Hal or the people around us who were undoubtedly staring at the embarrassing display. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Mr. Watson," I said quietly.

Hal was still hissing between gritted teeth, but he managed to croak out one simple phrase: "You're fired."

I nodded, because no amount of begging would get me out of this one, and carefully rose from the floor. I stared down at my muddy sneakers, unable to look him in the eye. "I really am sorry," I repeated before trudging away with the now slightly lighter coffeepot in hand. I wasn't really sorry about boiling his nuts, to be honest, but I was upset that I'd blown this job.

I grimaced when I saw Judy in the kitchen. She'd missed the fiasco, but I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she knew everything. Maybe I could just sneak away without her noticing… I'd even be willing to forego getting my credit card tips to avoid a confrontation. I probably hadn't made much, anyway.

Damned if I wasn't keeping Hal's twenty, though.

As inconspicuously as possible, I stuffed my jeans pockets with the cash tips I'd received and removed my burnished-orange apron to put it back on its hook. I was just about to make it out of the kitchen when Judy spotted me.

"Swan? What're you doing?" she asked, her accent thick. She narrowed her eyes at my now hung up apron.

I bit my lip and felt myself blushing under her scrutiny. "Um…I-may-have-spilled-coffee-on-Hal," I said in a rush.

Judy paled. "You _what_?" Her eyes were bugged out as she asked, "I'm assuming he fired you?"

I nodded.

"Good. Get out," she said icily.

_Fuck my life._

I sighed. I'd never even tried to make friends at work, so there wasn't anyone for me to say goodbye to. I left immediately, using the exit that was farthest from Hal and the waitress who'd come to his rescue after I'd wreaked havoc on his pants. As I wove through tables to the exit, I could hear her apologizing to him and explaining that I was always "like that." She was telling the truth. I'd probably broken more plates and dropped more food in this restaurant than all the others combined. I was a terrible waitress.

Outside, it was cloudy and cold now—bitterly so—and I folded my arms close to myself, rubbing my hands up and down either side of my jacket as I sat in my car, waiting for the heating to kick in. The clouds hung low and dark in the sky; it would rain soon, as it so often did in this part of the world. It would fit my mood.

"Well, shit," I said with a hollow laugh that had that hysterical edge to which I was becoming so well acquainted.

I still had my job at the little bookstore that was in the more touristy area of Port Angeles, but it was a part-time job and only paid just above minimum wage. There was no way I was going to make rent, pay for gas _and_ help my father Charlie with his bills if I couldn't replace my income from Hal's—_fast_.

The car was warm now, so I reclined my seat and rested for a moment. I brought the collar of Charlie's old barn jacket to my nose. I'd had it for a while now, but I could still make out the scents of trees, his old (now deceased) friend Harry Clearwater's fish fry and what could only be described as _Charlie_ if I tried hard enough. I'd never washed the jacket, and I didn't plan to; it often grounded me when I was upset.

Shutting my eyes tightly, I tried to let the smell comfort me, but it was no use this time. Still, I just kept thinking that if I perhaps closed my eyes tightly enough, I could drift away, or at least lessen the weight of the world I felt I was carrying on my shoulders. I knew I had one big option that could save me money—move back to Forks and live with Charlie—but I just didn't think I could take the emotional toll that would come with living with him right now. He also didn't know that I hadn't returned to college this semester or that I was helping pay his bills. He'd be furious if he found that out. So I guessed moving back with him wouldn't work, anyway.

I had many secrets I was keeping these days. I'd erected so many walls to protect myself and Charlie from the world that circumstance had given us, even though I knew that was never what he himself would want. _Am I bad daughter because of all this?_ I didn't know, but I was doing the best I could. I hoped.

All I knew was I needed a private place I could cry at night, a place where I could let the hard shell melt away. My attic bedroom in the house I shared with my two best friends afforded me that, even if it came to the tune of $270.00 a month. A space to call my own was the _one_ thing I gave myself and tried not to feel too guilty about.

As much as I wanted to go back home and just crawl into bed, I drove to a nearby supermarket and spent ten dollars on ice cream, cookies and a newspaper. I didn't give care what was going on in Port Angeles, but the classifieds were now immensely relevant to my life. _Fucking Hal. Fucking Judy. Fucking clumsiness. _I began eating my store brand cookies as I made my way back home, already wishing I'd spent Hal's dirty money on hard liquor. After all, I was twenty-one today. It was legal, for once.

I groaned when my home came into view.

The three balloons tied to our mailbox were the first sign that my bad day was about to become worse. I parked in the driveway, turned off the ignition and let my forehead fall against the steering wheel. "Please, no birthday surprises," I said. "Please, please, _please_." The last thing I needed today was a surprise, particularly one where people would expect me to be cheerful.

Ice cream, cookies and _Peninsula Daily News_ in hand, I entered my home as quietly as possible. Maybe I could sneak past the birthday well wishes.

But then the strangled-goose sound of a party blower came from the living room. "Happy twenty-first birthday!" Lauren and Angela chorused loudly as they skipped into the small foyer from the living room.

I forced a smile. "Hi, guys."

Lauren rolled her eyes and walked over to throw an arm around my shoulders. "Come on. Try to act a little more cheerful. And hey, you're home early! We can get the party started!"

Oh, no. Party?

Angela stood off to the side, eyeing the items I'd brought in with me. Her light brown eyes met mine as she frowned. "Why _are_ you home so early?" she asked. She was perceptive, and I suspected she already had a good guess.

I sighed and shrugged away from Lauren's embrace. "I got canned," I said flatly, while walking to our claustrophobic little kitchen to grab a spoon for my ice cream.

"Judy _fired_ you?" Lauren asked in surprise as they trailed behind me.

"Well, I _did_ pour lava-hot coffee on a guy's nuts."

Lauren barked a laugh. "He probably deserved it."

In spite of myself, I smirked a little. "I know you're a man-hater and all, but he was my manager's boss. It was _Hal_." At their wide eyes, I nodded. "Yes, _the_ Hal and all that," I said with a tired laugh. "So, technically, the owner of the entire business fired me. He did deserve it, by the way, but still…"

"Awkward," Angela said with a wince.

I nodded and shoved a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into my mouth. It gave me a painful brain freeze on the way down, but I was too hungry and annoyed to care. I didn't even bother trying to being nice and offer Lauren and Angela any. This was my dinner, as far as I was concerned. "Yeah," I said after swallowing, "so you can see why I'm not all hip-hip-hooray."

Lauren crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Angela. "Well, considering her day, I think we got the birthday girl the perfect present, don't you?"

"I don't want any presents," I grumbled. I just wanted this day to be fucking over. Scratch that. I wanted the nightmare that had been my life for the last _four months_ to be over. _Can I wake up yet?_

Angela reached out and touched my arm gently in the same way that her mother always did when she saw me. It was some patented Preacher's Wife, slash Preacher's Kid thing, I was sure. _Cue touch and look of pity._ "You've had so much going on," she said, "and we wanted you to be able to get away a bit." She smiled slightly. "We _know_ you don't like parties and stuff, so we pooled our resources, and… We're going to spend the night in Seattle!" She let out a girly squeal that seemed incongruous with her pole-skinny, six-foot-tall figure. "We found a really cool bed and breakfast online."

"Angela's leaving out the best parts," Lauren said with a playful sigh. "We got booze. Lots of it. And B-grade movies."

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Dead serious," she said. "You can drink your weight in Bloody Marys tonight. I'll even hold back your hair later."

I sighed then. "You guys don't need to spend money on me." We were all college students, after all. Or, well, _they_ were. I was…well, I wasn't working two jobs anymore, that was for sure.

Angela smiled knowingly at me. "It's already a done deal, so you _have _to accept this. And, no, before you ask, there's no way we're letting you pay us back for anything tonight. It's all on us." Lauren nodded in agreement as Angela continued, "If we leave in a little while, we'll get there just before seven. We can grab a pizza and start the night."

I looked between my two friends and shook my head as I felt a smile creep up on me. "Thanks," I said. "I—well, I really could use the break."

"We knew you'd see things our way." Lauren grinned. "And don't even think of doing anything until we leave. Relax. We already washed all your clothes—"

"At least the ones we found," Angela said.

"—and we've packed an overnight bag for you," Lauren finished.

My voice came out as a whisper. "You washed everything for me?"

Angela nodded as Lauren joked, "It was as much for our sakes as it was for yours."

"Thank you," I said, feeling almost teary-eyed. I'd taken care of people my whole life, and now in my second decade of living, it was starting to weigh on me heavily. Having friends do something special and tangible for me felt wonderful, but it also made me feel a little guilty, especially when they already had to tolerate my craziness of late. Why couldn't things be more stable?

Afraid that I might inhale the whole carton of ice cream—container and all—I tucked it away in the freezer. I smiled at Angela and Lauren. "Really, guys, thanks. Um…I guess I don't need to pack," I said with a laugh, "but I should call Charlie. I need to make sure he's okay and tell him where I'll be."

Their smiles faltered for just the briefest of moments. I probably wouldn't have even noticed the changes in their expressions if I hadn't been witnessing that same sort of slip for months now. It was an awkward look of pity.

I went up to my attic bedroom, tossing the _Peninsula Daily News_ down on my work desk before falling face-first onto my bed. Birthday celebration in Seattle or not, I'd need to pick through the classifieds soon—tonight or tomorrow—preferably tonight.

With a sigh, I picked up the cordless phone that was in my room and dialed Charlie's number. He picked up on the fourth ring, his voice rough and ragged as he said, "Charlie Swan speaking."

"Hey, Dad."

"Bells!" he exclaimed, and even though he coughed a little afterward, I couldn't help but smile. "Happy birthday, kiddo!" he added.

"No birthday talk, please," I said with a laugh. "I'm getting old now, you know."

"Pshaw! Twenty-one's the golden age," Charlie replied somewhat wistfully. "I'd give a lot to be twenty-one again, Bells."

Frowning, I tried to redirect the conversation. "How are you, by the way?"

"Doing fine"—I knew he wasn't, but didn't correct him—"Esme just brought over some fancy-looking casserole. Brought dessert, too!" He directed his voice away from the phone slightly as he said in a louder voice, "She spoils me, you know—think she's trying to fatten me up or something." Musical, female laughter sounded in the background, and I smiled.

Esme Cullen, the wife of Forks' town doctor, Carlisle Cullen, and her daughter Alice, who was actually my age, were my own personal angels. It seemed that the second Charlie was diagnosed, they were there all the times I couldn't be. Esme kept a near endless supply of healthy but tasty food coming Charlie's way, and Alice often entertained him and was there when he began losing his hair, beanie cap in hand. Dr. Cullen made house calls at times, and he was actually the one who'd found Charlie passed out on his desk at the police department in June. He diagnosed Charlie's small-cell lung cancer soon after. The Cullens had been there for us from the start, and I couldn't be more grateful to them.

"What have you got planned for the big day, kid?" Charlie asked through a mouthful of food.

I smiled, feeling even more thankful for my friends and this little break. "Well, Lauren and Angela surprised me, and we're going to spend the night in Seattle at a bed and breakfast—a girls' night out sort of thing."

Charlie hummed through his food before asking, "You got that new can of pepper spray I put in your bag last you were here?"

Yeah, I'd found it, and it was in the top of my closet, with about a half dozen more. I always wondered how often Charlie thought I would be in need of such a thing.

"Dad…"

"Well?"

I rolled my eyes and looked up at the slanted ceiling of my bedroom. "Yeah. I've got it."

"Good. You kids be careful in Seattle at night. It's a big city, and you never know who you might meet." Being the retired police chief for Forks, he didn't mean that in a positive way. To Charlie, you needed to be prepared for the Boogey Man at every corner. It was okay advice, if you wanted to be paranoid for the rest of your life.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," I said as reassuringly as I could.

"Humph," he grunted. "Call me when you get in tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'll probably come over, like usual."

He coughed loudly away from the phone. "Okay, then. Well…"

As close as we'd gotten in my senior year of high school, we still couldn't always keep a conversation going for more than a few minutes. We were just quiet people—too in our heads to be talking beyond them.

"Yeah… I gotta go, Dad. I'll see you soon." I swallowed hard to remove the lump that always came to my throat at the end of our conversations and said quietly, "I love you."

Charlie's gruff voice was soft as he replied. "Love you, too, kid."

A few hours later, Lauren, Angela and I were locking up the house, bags in hand. Though we were just staying one night in Seattle, it looked like we were staying longer, between two backpacks, a duffel bag, a laptop carrier and three plastic shopping bags of various types of alcohol. Lauren hadn't been kidding; they'd bought a lot of liquor.

_Sounds good to me._

"There are _three bottles _of vodka here!" I exclaimed, while loading my bag into the trunk of my old Honda Civic.

Lauren put her backpack beside my duffel bag and rolled her eyes as she cushioned the glass bottles between our clothes-filled bags. She pointed a finger toward the front of my car, where Angela—having insisted that she drive—was already seated behind the wheel, adjusting the mirrors like the attentive driver she was. "The _PK_ was in charge of the booze when I had to go to a spur of the moment group meeting this afternoon." She shook her head, her fine, blonde hair flying on the wind. "Trust me. Never again. On the upside, you and I are set for when she's getting drunk on Jesus." Smirking, she nudged my side with her elbow playfully. "I'll be able to take the edge off on Sunday mornings when her fucking alarm goes off for church."

It was difficult, but I managed to suppress my laughter as I went around the car and slid into the backseat. Though we all cared for each other, Lauren and Angela sometimes butted heads, both philosophically and just from general personality differences. Playing Switzerland in it all, I often got to hear the unfiltered trash talk they sometimes had for each other. Whenever Angela's religious upbringing came up, which had largely encouraged a sort of naïve innocence, Lauren (who was about as far from innocent as one could be) would start calling her _PK_—short for Preacher's Kid. It was good-natured ribbing, so long as Lauren didn't make Jesus jokes or start on the theory of evolution and Angela didn't try to convince Lauren that abortion should be illegal.

The drive to Seattle was relaxing and accompanied by an alternative rock station whose music selections blended into the background of our intermittent conversations. For a while, we talked about Lauren and Angela's classes, but I eventually withdrew myself, feeling more than a little sad that I couldn't _participate_ in them, as I'd thought I would be doing. I didn't mind listening to their stories—I enjoyed their happiness—but I didn't like trying to act like everything was all right by contributing to the discussions. It was just too uncomfortable.

I sighed a little and closed my eyes. At least they weren't talking about Hal or Judy or the fact that I might be late on my rent this month. _Shit._ I still couldn't believe that I'd been fired today. Thoughts of black coffee, Judy and Hal swirled in my head as the car rose and dipped over highway-covered hills…

_I stood in the middle of an expansive clearing that was fenced by ancient pines and hemlocks. The sky was darkly oppressive, veined by silver-white slivers of lightning and accompanied by rolling drums of thunder. I felt small in the clearing, beneath the bowl-shaped sky that seemed to be closing in, as if I was but a mote of dust on the face of the planet; the heavy storm gales would sweep me away. The rain came, and I remained in the clearing, too afraid to take shelter in the shadowed woods. Hairs rose on my arms and the back of my neck. _

_Lightning clawed through the sky and struck down trees until one so rapidly caught fire that the rain seemed unable to extinguish it. The trees around the clearing grabbed hold of the flames and spread them, as if they were dry California brush, until all that remained was a solid ring of fire where they had once been. The fire closed in around me; the clouds hovered lower, roiling dark and grey with the storm. The water flooded up to my ankles, my knees, my waist, and up and up and up. I had nowhere to run, and my feet were stuck deep in a slowly sinking, sucking mud._

_"Help me!" I cried out, hoping someone was near._

_My mother's face appeared to me in the low-hanging clouds. Her heart-shaped face that I knew so well from my own reflection was set passively. She watched me flounder and flail my arms in the rushing waters that would surely drown me._

_"Please, Momma," I whispered, calling her by the name I'd used only as a very little girl._

_Her eyes turned away from me before her face disappeared completely._

_"Wait! Come back!" I spluttered. The cold water was at my chin, which bobbed up and down with the incessant chattering of my teeth. Water flowed past my lips. I spat it out and struggled harder, to no avail._

_The water flowed up under my nose, and I took in a deep, life-preserving breath. I knew it was my last._

"Bella?" _Shake. Shake._ "Bella? Wake up. We're here."

My eyes snapped open, and my hand shot out to grip Angela's where it lay on my kneecap as she shook my leg.

"You okay?" she whispered. "You've been talking a little—random stuff." She smiled, but I could tell that my sleep-talking had unnerved her.

I swallowed hard. How was it that my throat felt so dry when it seemed that only moments ago I was buried in an ocean? "Yeah, I'm okay," I answered, my voice hoarse.

She nodded, still looking uncertain. "Okay." She looked out the front windshield toward a two-story house that I assumed was the bed and breakfast. "Lauren's just taking in some of our bags and meeting the owner. You ready for your birthday night?"

"Sure, sure," I said with a fake smile. My arms and legs felt cold, and the brilliant red and yellow flames were still there when I closed my eyes.

That was the first time I dreamed of dying.

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**_Author's Notes (June 22, 2010):_**_ Special thanks to Project Team Beta, specifically **gotellalice** and **souplover9**. Thanks should also go to **nowforruin** and **tiffanyanne3**, who set me straight on waitressing, because I was completely clueless about how certain things worked._

**_Author's Notes (January 24, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	4. Bloody Mary Birthday

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm04-pic_

**_Chapter music: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm04-music_

**_IMPORTANT:_**_ I really can't stress this enough. Music is important to this chapter, if for no other reason than Bella's lullaby is a piano piece that I doubt many of you have heard before. No Burwell or Yiruma here; this unique Bella and Edward needed to dance to their own music, and so they do. Please, please see the chapter playlist or at least **bit(dot)ly/sotpm-lullaby** for the lullaby. (Oh, and support Helen Jane Long's music if you like her.)_

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**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 04: BLOODY MARY BIRTHDAY**

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_"What you seek is seeking you."_

_Rumi_

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**ISABELLA SWAN**  
The bed and breakfast Lauren and Angela reserved for us to stay at was like something from a postcard. The house itself was fairly normal on the outside—two stories, pale blue siding, Dutch colonial style with a simple white porch where three rocking chairs sat—but the gardens surrounding the house made it into a fairytale. Sweeping ivy vines crawled along white terraces that stood on the far ends of the house. Soft, pink roses bloomed among the various bushes at the front of the house, their scent wafting up to me as Angela and I got out of the car and made our way up the flagstone walkway.

With only a whispering breeze and the twilight songs of crickets, it was soothingly quiet here, which helped to take off the burning edge of the scary nightmare I'd just had in the car. Though I knew we weren't far from the bustling world of Seattle, The Rosebud Bed and Breakfast was separated on its own little piece of property in the outer suburbs. It wasn't touristy at all, really, which seemed to be in odd contrast to where we lived. Port Angeles was the kind of place where vacationers were always milling about along the piers, particularly in the summer and fall.

"Hello, hello! Please, come in!" a tenor voice called to us as we entered the house. We found Lauren with a tall, slender man who smiled brilliantly as we joined them in the living room. "I'm Ian," he said, introducing himself and eagerly shaking our hands. "My partner Gary and I own The Rosebud. I hope you'll enjoy your stay."

It was very hard to contain my smirk as I realized that Lauren must have been the one to find The Rosebud and book everything. Since living with her, I'd met more gay couples than I even knew existed in the Pacific Northwest, all because she liked to goad Angela concerning—in Lauren's words—her "far right, idiotic prejudices." I never quite understood why she thought that, considering most Lutherans—including Angela—were pretty liberal and didn't fuss over homosexuality, but then Lauren just liked to be needlessly combative like that sometimes. When she was trying to get a rise out of Angela, it wasn't difficult for me to remember the person she'd been when I first moved to Forks at seventeen; she'd been beautiful and popular and incredibly malicious. I didn't miss that version of Lauren, even if I did wish I could change the circumstances that had made her into the mostly-kind person she was now.

Lauren smiled all-too-sweetly at Angela as she handed me a room key. "This is your room," she said. "Ang and I have one on the first floor."

I was about to protest over the fact that they'd gotten me my own room, when Ian burst out cheerfully, "Oh, so _you're_ the birthday girl! Great! Wait right here a moment, okay?"

"Okay," I said with a startled laugh as he quickly slipped out of the room, the white-blonde of his hair catching the soft glow of surrounding lamplight. The inside of the house was warm and comfortable, decorated with a surprisingly complementary collection of neutral-colored modern and antique pieces, with accents of bright blues and greens that were reminiscent of the pristine landscaping outside. I smiled, despite my reservations over having Lauren and Angela spend so much on my birthday. I decided that I should just shut up and be grateful. "Thanks, guys."

"Stop saying thank you," Lauren admonished in a grouchy tone. "You're like a broken record."

Ian returned a few minutes later, holding a white saucer with a yellow-frosted cupcake on it. "I like traditions, so I started one of my own last year. I try to make some sort of cake for people who come here on their anniversaries and birthdays. Hope you like carrot cake," he said with a small shrug. "Homemade. Organic. It's _almost_ healthy for you, if you don't count the absurd amount of sugar. It's cane sugar, though!" he added, though I wasn't sure why that made a difference.

"This looks great," I said while accepting the plate from him. I dipped a finger into the frosting and gave it a taste. It was buttery and sugary and fattening—exactly what I wanted, even if I'd had cookies and ice cream just hours ago. I needed salty and sugary comfort foods to tell me everything was going to be okay. "Mm, this is fantastic. Thank you!"

Pleased that I liked his cooking, Ian smiled at each of us. "Well, I'll just leave you girls to it. Feel free to roam about anywhere you like. It's a quiet time of year for us, but there's one other guest here at the moment. He brought a dog with him—Lucky. He's in the backyard, so just beware if you're not a dog lover! Don't worry, though, he's friendly as can be."

"What do you want to do for dinner?" Angela asked once Ian had left the room. "We can go out…or we can order a pizza and get started on the movies."

"And vodka," Lauren murmured.

I looked down at my dirty _Forks' Finest_ t-shirt and suddenly felt incredibly grungy. "Let's order in," I replied with a tired sigh. "That'll give me time to shower and change into some of those awesome, clean clothes you guys tell me I now have."

Though I really wanted—and needed—that shower, I decided to snoop a bit when I got upstairs, so I quickly tossed my duffel bag down in front of my bedroom door and proceeded to look around as I stuffed my face with the cupcake Ian had given me. I'd always been a little too curious for my own good, and I liked to try to find and solve mysteries where there typically weren't any to begin with. There was just something about searching until you found a story beneath all the outer pretenses. Most people seemed to go through life, satisfied with only knowing the very surface of the world they lived in; I always wanted the details, even if that was where the devil might be found.

The second floor had four doors along its hallway; two led to bedrooms, as indicated by plaques on each door. Mine was the "Country Garden Room," which was across from the "Moonlight Sonata Room." I couldn't quite decide if the names were really inventive or kitsch.

A smaller, third door led to nothing more than a boring old linen closet, and then the fourth door, the one at the end of the hallway, was left wide open, leading to a reading and television room that had a large picture window overlooking the backyard garden. In the dying light, I could make out the shape of a cute, yellow-haired dog as he lay sleeping on the grass below. Too bad all dogs either seemed to love me so much they pounced on me, uninvited, or hated me to the point that they wanted to use me for a chew toy.

Most of the books in the reading room were scientific in nature—mainly about evolution, the climate and global warming, and how we were all going to die if we didn't recycle and take four-minute-long showers. As I somehow didn't think smiling Ian seemed the type, I assumed they belonged to his partner Gary. I found what I guessed was Ian's stash in three large, wicker-woven baskets; home and garden magazines were interspersed with _Reader's Digest_ and nearly every tabloid imaginable. _Babies, Lies & Scandal_, the one on top said in bold, yellow lettering beside a picture of Sarah Palin and a sleeping, overly-airbrushed baby. I snorted. Apparently even babies were too ugly to leave alone these days.

Once I'd finished nosing around, I unlocked the door to my room and slipped inside. Between its light green walls, rich-colored woods and the patchwork quilt at the end of the white bedspread, it was styled charmingly, yet also had a subtle, modern touch that kept it in line with the décor of the foyer and living room downstairs.

I set my empty cupcake plate on the bedside table and dropped my duffel bag down on a trunk that was at the foot of the bed. My nerves were shot. Between getting fired, all the pressure that came with that, and the strange nightmare, I just felt like crawling into bed and sleeping for a day—or a year. But I knew Angela and Lauren wanted to give me a birthday night and help me get my mind off of everything, and I wasn't about to be an ungrateful little snot about that; they'd put a lot of thought and money into this. Unfortunately, Charlie's illness and getting fired just weren't things I was likely to forget.

I'd brought my newspaper and highlighter with me and had every intention of scouring it tonight, even if I did it drunk. I'd learned as a kid with a flighty mother that bills simply do not wait for you to be responsible. If I was going to see Charlie tomorrow, I needed to at least have some idea of whose managerial doors I'd be knocking on, come Monday morning.

Digging through my bag, I found Angela and Lauren had packed some of my favorite pajamas—a pair of oversized, hole-ridden, gray sweatpants and a floppy, black t-shirt from Peninsula College that I'd bought last year. I brought the clothing up to my face and breathed in. It smelled like the lavender laundry detergent we used. I'd almost forgotten that clean scent.

I scrubbed hard in the shower, adjusting the tap until the water burned as it pelted down on me. My pale skin turned disgustingly pink under the heat and steam until I looked like a cured Christmas ham.

Even after time and my shower, the dream was bothering me. I'd had similar ones since Charlie told me he had lung cancer. I thought they might represent how overwhelmed I felt, if I was to believe any of the mumbo-jumbo I had learned from my mother's cheesy dream dictionaries as a teen. (Although, if I was to believe those, all that water probably also represented my repressed sexual energy.)

But I had never fucking _died_ in any of them. That was all sorts of creepy, and Renée's face was a new addition. Maybe my mother was the key to the latest dream. I probably needed to try calling her again, since I'd only gotten her voicemail yesterday, but then I felt indignant. _She should fucking call me!_ It was _my_ birthday. There was a chance she'd forgotten that, though.

I'd moved to Forks to be with Charlie when I was seventeen. At the time, Renée and Phil, my rather youthful stepfather, had recently married, and she wanted to go off with him as he pursued his budding career as a minor league baseball player. That was my mother for you; she had a gypsy's heart and wanted to go wherever it was willing to take her in the moment. It was endearing to me, until I realized how unstable it had made my childhood. Moving away had seemed the right thing for me to do, at the time—_for her_. It was only later that I realized it was the right thing for me, as well. She'd been so sad to see Phil go on his trips, to not be able to follow him, and I'd known I was the only thing holding her back. I always was. Kids were burdensome like that.

When I left Phoenix, I was convinced that Renée was my best friend, and I was heartbroken over our separation. But after moving to Forks and meeting Angela, I knew that what I'd had with my mother was never true friendship—just good old familial co-dependence. I'd depended on Renée for the most basic of mothering—money for food and shelter—and she'd depended on me to, well, _mother her back_. I'd paid the bills, balanced the checkbook, cooked and bought the groceries before I could even legally drive on my own. The longer we lived apart, the less we spoke, the less it bothered me and the more I came to understand our relationship from an objective perspective. She loved me, in her own way. I knew that, but I no longer tried to ignore the truth that came with it. I was her mistake, regardless of her love.

Phil was eventually signed to the Florida Suns, and when I didn't agree to move to Jacksonville to be with them, Renée didn't take it too well. All through my senior year of high school, she'd tried to guilt trip me into moving to Jacksonville, but she really upped the ante when I told her I'd decided to attend Peninsula College in Port Angeles after graduating; I'd received a scholarship to go there. I had thought she would be proud of me, but she was childishly annoyed. I'd never pegged my harebrained mother to be focused enough for vindictiveness, but boy, did she prove me wrong. She was _offended_ that I would "choose Charlie" over her, and I'd been put through the silent treatment for well over a month.

We'd gotten to the point where we were now…where I was calling her a day before my birthday, to only receive her voicemail, and then to not hear from her on my actual birthday. No presents, either. Not that I wanted anything. I just wanted to be acknowledged… I wanted to be wanted—not just because having me meant that Charlie _didn't_.

In spite of my frustrations, I was just about to call Renée on my crappy old cell phone when there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was as good of an excuse as any to put off calling her for now.

"Just us!" Lauren announced on the other side. "And we have pizza! Ian said it was fine to bring it up."

I let them in and grinned when Angela promptly and sheepishly handed me a Bloody Mary—my favorite drink in the whole world. Angela walked over to the bed and removed the laptop bag she had on her shoulder. "I brought the laptop and DVDs for the movie night," she said as she began to set it up.

That brought a smile to my face. It was like old times in the summer after our senior year, when we'd curl up on a bed too small for the three of us and watch movies on an old, slow laptop.

I took a sip of my drink. With lots of hot sauce, it burned on the way down, a bitter vodka fire—just the way I liked it.

"Good?" Lauren asked as she nursed her own vodka and orange juice.

"It burns…so yes."

Lauren plopped down on the bed beside Angela. "Sure you don't want any, _PK_? I mean, you did buy three times as much vodka as I asked you to…there's plenty to go around."

"Shut up, heathen," Angela said with a good-natured smirk, using her own catty nickname for Lauren.

As I sat between my two best friends, eating greasy cheese pizza and slowly but surely feeling the effects of cheap vodka, I began to get excited about B-grade movies. Really excited.

There weren't many things that my first (and only) boyfriend, Jacob, hadn't ruined for me emotionally, but I'd managed to retain my love for B-grade movies in spite of him. He'd ruined my favorite books by Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. He'd ruined all the heart wrenching words of William Shakespeare. He'd ruined romantic music and movies for me, to the point that I gagged by default whenever I heard Mariah Carey on the radio or saw Hugh Grant in some lame chick flick—and not just because both of them generally sucked. And, well, while I couldn't rationally put _all_ the blame on him over my misplaced virginity, I often liked to _irrationally_. Love was definitely ruined. It had been two years, and I still couldn't imagine even casual dating.

But not even Jacob Black could ruin B-grade movies. I loved them, and they were funny enough that I was always too distracted to think of his honey brown, native skin and the way he'd unceremoniously dumped me. He had been the one to introduce me to a comedy show that made fun of bad movies—_Mystery Science Theater 3000—_shortly after I moved to Forks. We would sit for hours, either at his little red house out on the Quileute reservation down at La Push or at my house in Forks, watching ketchup blood, counting Wilhelm screams and laughing at awkward porno moans.

"Let's see," Lauren said, sifting through the DVDs she and Angela had brought. "We've got _Transmorphers_, _The Touch of Satan_ and _Troll 2_. Your favorites, of course."

I looked between my two friends with a laugh. "You know what I'm going to choose."

Angela laughed and grabbed the DVD from Lauren to pop it in the laptop reader. "_Troll 2_ it is, birthday girl."

We sat back and watched what can only be described as the best worst movie ever, pizza and drinks in hand. When the movie—that doesn't actually have a single troll in it—ended and we were done reciting all the horrible catchphrases, we watched _The Touch of Satan_. It was 2:00 a.m. by the time both had finished, and Lauren and I were thoroughly buzzing. I felt like I was floating.

Floating was a whole hell of a lot nicer than drowning.

"Look what I brought!" Angela said girlishly after dipping a hand into her laptop bag. From my drunken haze, she seemed to move and speak a lot faster than was normal, but somewhere in my brain, I knew that _she_ was the normal, sober one here. She waved a large, rectangular, blue-and-gold book in her hands. _Forks High School 2006: Home of the Spartans_, the cover read in crude Comic Sans typography_._ A devilish grin lifted her lips.

I groaned. "Senior yearbook? Really?" The movies had been so good, and now I was going to have to look at my horrible senior picture and all the youthful versions of the people I most hated bumping into when in Forks. To make matters worse, I hadn't known what day pictures were going to be taken that year, and the sweater I happened to be wearing on the day clashed horribly with the background, even in black and white print. It matched the ugly lump of curly hair that sat on my shoulder like a small and possibly feral animal.

_Wow_, I thought. _That was over three years ago now._ I felt like I'd aged considerably since then. I could feel it in my bones, and very little of it had to do with my physical age.

Angela, failing to notice my turmoil, was nodding eagerly. "Yep, and we're so going to look on Facebook to see what everyone's doing."

Lauren laughed a little into another steadily emptying glass. "We already know what they're all doing," she said. "It's _Forks_. Everyone knows what everyone's doing."

"But there aren't nearly as many drunken pictures involved in regular town gossip," Angela argued with another mischievous grin.

"That's true," Lauren conceded, slurring rather ironically in the process.

I had to smile. Angela didn't have a mean bone in her body, really, but in the last year, she'd developed a fetish for all Forks-related gossip. She didn't participate in, or perpetuate any of it beyond Lauren and me, but she loved to hear the sordid tales of cheating husbands and wives, unruly teenagers and small town corruption. I supposed it was just the natural order of things for Angela, who had every intention of living in Forks after college and marrying her high school sweetheart, Ben Cheney, whenever he grew the balls to pop the question. I had no doubt that they would get their picket fence, a cat and dog, and a couple of whiny kids who they'd drag to church every Sunday morning.

Forks cradled her life. She was set and happy with how it would all play out, even if I had no fucking clue how she could stand it. Forks seemed so…boring, so normal. _Says the girl working dead end jobs._

We did "girl talk"—at least that's what I had always been told this sort of gossiping was if you were female. We talked about how some old classmates were prettier or fatter, married or divorced, or off living in Europe. We talked about the aloof and beautiful Cullens who, while I saw a few of them on a regular basis, due to their relationship with Charlie and me, were still rather aloof and reclusive and—as came as no surprise—didn't have Facebook profiles.

We talked about baby-faced, blonde-haired Mike Newton and how he never could figure out that I wanted nothing to do with him. We found a picture of him passed out on a blue couch by his own vomit, which was aptly tagged "Former Pizza." Facebook was like that sometimes. So, apparently, were the students of UC of Santa Barbara and the fraternity he'd joined.

Then there was Jessica Stanley, who we naturally gravitated toward after looking up Mike, given their on-again-off-again high school romance. Jessica's profile was filled with colorful, annoying notices and comments from people who made me wonder if English was going to be the latest dying language. Her picture was one taken in front of a bathroom mirror, and it showed off her stretch-mark-ridden, seven-months-pregnant belly. _Better you than me, Jess_, I thought with a grimace.

"Jesus, look at that stomach," Lauren muttered. "She's fucking _Shamu_. Wonder if she knows who the dad is."

"_Lauren_," Angela chided, but we were all chuckling a little.

Our laughter abruptly stopped when Angela turned a page in the yearbook and ended up on a poorly-constructed collage of pictures, one of the most noticeable in the bunch being Tyler Crowley's smiling face. He was never supposed to be featured so prominently in the yearbook after he was found guilty in the trial, but the school had already ordered the print work by then. I looked over at Lauren's ashen face and reached out to touch her shoulder.

At the contact, Lauren sucked in a ragged breath. "Put it away, please," she begged in a whisper.

Angela shut the yearbook with a smack. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

"Let's not talk about it. I knew there was a chance I'd see him in there when you suggested the yearbook, but I thought I could handle it." Lauren shook her head and took a large swallow of her drink. "Guess I was wrong," she said quietly, and then said no more. She didn't talk to anyone but me about that night. Not even Angela knew the details.

I understood that it was hard to know how to talk about it; that night still confused the both of us. Lauren had been a lot like Jessica when I first came to Forks—beautiful, amazingly bitchy and somewhat known for her promiscuity. Her on-again-off-again relationship had been with Tyler, one of Mike Newton's jock friends.

At a Christmas party in 2005, during our senior year in high school, there had been a lot of drinking and, unbeknownst to me, some drug use. I'd sort of missed all that. Being a goody-two-shoes at the time, I'd probably been the only sober person there, besides Angela.

Tyler had a _lot_ to drink that night. Everyone knew that he was a "bad drunk," prone to aggressiveness, but no one stopped him, because if there's one thing teenagers are bad at doing, it's saying "no"—especially to each other. Apparently combining Tyler's drunken aggression with other substances was an even worse idea.

Under the effects of all that was in his system, he forced himself on Lauren that night. I wanted to believe that the boy who had sat at my lunch table for a year, laughing and smiling and being an average kid, never would have done that, if not for the drugs, but who was to say? We would never know what came first—the inclination to harm or the lack of control that came with being under the influence. All I knew was that when I found Lauren that night, naked, crying, and alone on the floor of the Newtons' upstairs bathroom, both our lives and Tyler's had changed forever. Lauren and I had been friends ever since, and it was only because of me that she'd reported what happened.

An awkward silence fell between the three of us, but it wasn't entirely unexpected, I felt. I couldn't remember a single birthday in my life that didn't have some sort of awkwardness, embarrassment or downright tragedy.

This had certainly been one hell of a birthday.

"I'll just leave the laptop here… I think I'll go to bed," Angela announced as she got up with the yearbook in her hands. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek sweetly. "Happy birthday, Bella." Glancing over at Lauren with a still apologetic expression, she whispered, "'Night. I'll leave a light on for you." She smiled tiredly at us before closing my bedroom door with a click.

Lauren turned beside me and placed her empty glass on the nearest bedside table. "So. How you holding up?" Her words slurred slightly as her eyes closed.

I frowned. Apparently her idea of avoiding the elephant that had just plopped down in the bedroom was to focus on _my_ problems. "You have a clue," I said evasively. "And I lost my job today, so you know…I could be a lot better."

A moment passed before she opened her eyes and stared at me carefully. "You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything."

I nodded. "You can tell me anything, too."

"I mean it," she continued. "I feel like you and I _get_ each other on some deep level. We've been through shit. Maybe not the _same_ shit, but shit nonetheless. Ang doesn't get that. Not many our age do."

She had that last part right.

"Thanks," I said, but I didn't unleash any of my problems on her, just the same; especially not now, just mere moments after she'd faced Tyler's picture. I preferred to reflect in private, if crying into my pillow on most nights could be called reflecting. Hopefully I was quiet enough that it was at least private.

Sharing my problems with Lauren was strange, anyway. We were close—she, Angela and I—but the things that had bound us together—high school, similar classes, the same group of friends—were slipping through our fingers. We were growing up and apart, somewhat.

Sensing that I wasn't interested in sharing, Lauren rose on unsteady feet. "I'm sorry things went to shit today," she said candidly. "I hope you're at least having a good time here."

"It's been great. Really."

She nodded. "Good. We wanted you to just…I don't know…be your fucking age for once. You've always been so fucking mature, and you've put too much stress on yourself since…well, since Charlie—" She cut off that line of thought and finished, "We worry about you, is all."

"Please don't." I hated the thought of causing them concern, when they were so good to me. _Why can't I just handle everything?_ I wondered. I certainly _wanted_ to. Maybe I was just weak.

"You want us to stop worrying?" she asked, and I nodded. She shrugged. "Not gonna happen, so get over that." She patted my shoulder, a sleepy, drunken smile on her lips. "I'm gonna hit the sack. You get some sleep, 'kay?"

I smiled back. "Will do."

Exhausted, despite waking late and resting on the drive here, and uncharacteristically calm thanks to several Bloody Marys, I lay in bed, staring up at the smooth, white ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. _Fuck job searching_, I thought. _It can wait. _Well, not really. But it _would_. So would everything else, apparently. I couldn't even summon the energy to go brush my teeth, even though I really wanted to after that pizza.

Time seemed to pass over me as I fell in and out of a fitful sleep. Fragmented dreams with swirling faces and whispered voices danced behind my closed eyes, only to be ripped away from me moments later as I randomly woke. I repeated this dreadful process over and over again.

It could have been minutes or hours that passed, but at some point I began to hear piano music. The notes were soft—a haunting, drifting melody that made my heart ache in deep sorrow, even as my brain struggled to keep up with the emotion.

My eyes shut once more, and I saw Charlie, pale and bald, right down to the hairless upper lip that circumstance had thrust upon him; he'd had a mustache for years…_before_. He sat in the white-backed chair at the hospital, the chemotherapy tube hooked up to the little round port catheter that lay beneath the skin of his right breast. He didn't look like the man I'd come home to four years ago. He was gaunt, with dark circles around his eyes; his lips were cracked. The lilting, heartbreaking music played as a soundtrack to my father's primarily unspoken pain—the weakness, the coughed up blood, the vomiting. Most of all, the music told of regret.

_I wish I'd done things differently,_ it seemed to say.

As Charlie wished he'd never smoked, wished he'd gotten more time than he knew he was going to get, wished there was some god or devil he could bargain with.

And as I wished I'd been a better daughter during his healthy years. If only I'd gone fishing more, complained less, or spent more than a summer month with him when I'd been living with my mother. I'd been such a whiny pain in the ass, complaining about Forks, just like Renée had, until _Charlie_ had been the one to travel to see me. What a selfish brat I'd been.

_I've made so many mistakes_, the music wept. _And I can't change a single thing._

I felt myself crying in my dazed half-sleep. It wasn't like when I cried alone in my attic room. This was a deeper mourning, a truer feeling than I'd perhaps ever experienced before. _What the hell was in those Bloody Marys Lauren made?_ the cynical side of me wondered at one point.

Eventually, the music changed again—this time to a more hopeful piece with stronger, louder notes—and with the change, I woke with another jerk. My stomach roiled and grumbled in protest, unhappily coping with cheap vodka, hot sauce and greasy pizza. _Hello, heartburn. _The discomfort didn't stop me from getting up, however. I _had_ to be closer to this music.

I rose and stumbled to my bedroom door, feeling pulled by the flowing composition, as if the notes were drifting from the other room to mine, only to wrap themselves around my wrists and ankles, to drag me along like a broken, clumsy marionette. Who was my puppet master? I wondered.

I sat on the hardwood floor outside my room, resting my back against my bedroom's closed door while I looked at the "Moonlight Sonata Room." The hallway was dark, lit only by a nightlight that cast a soft, blue glow into the darkness. The piano music lay behind the door opposite my own, and the wood and white paint and quaint little plaque were somehow an almost unbearable separation to me.

One song bled into another, and though I fought it as much as possible, I continued to slip in and out of sleep. My bottom went numb, and my fingers and toes got cold, but still I sat, entranced as I listened to sad tale after sad tale. The pieces I longed to hear most were those that were not so sad, the ones that had tinges of hope sparsely littered in them, almost as if by mistake. That hope was beautiful, and I wished there were no barrier between the mystery musician and me, that I could tell him or her that this music alone was reason enough to feel hopeful. It was beautiful and real and _alive_ in a way that I'd never heard music be.

It conjured up images from my life, little mental slideshows of my parents or friends, of brown Arizonian scrub, golden Californian sunshine, and wet Washington pine. And I saw faces I didn't know—men and women who seemed to surface in my imagination, purely at the will of the notes that the musician chose to play. I saw round faces, tear-filled eyes, blonde-haired girls, suited businessmen, black skin, white skin, golden and fake tans. Each person I imagined had a complex story that, for whatever reason, I couldn't quite grasp; it slipped past me, just barely, into the misty world of dreams and imagination. In my mind, all of these imagined individuals were somehow wrapped up in the musician's heartfelt apologies, one right after the other.

The last piece the musician played was a lullaby that, despite its soothing notes, had me wide awake and sitting up straight. It was more hopeful than all the other songs, and I once again felt myself weeping, but this time for joy. I heard peace and acceptance in this lullaby. There were no apologies cradled in these notes—no sorrows or regrets—only a celebration of life and rebirth. My cheeks hurt as I smiled uncontrollably into the blue-tinged darkness, tears streaming down my face. They fell warm and wet onto my sleep shirt.

When the music stopped, I scrubbed my face and sat in silent awe. I'd just gotten a concert in the most unlikely of places. _Was anyone else even awake for that?_ The music hadn't been quiet, but I doubted that something so beautiful could have disturbed the sleep of anyone else in the two-story house. I guessed that I'd only woken because I never slept well after drinking.

With stiff joints, I rose from the floor—only to knock the back of my head against the doorknob. "Shit!" I hissed, covering the top of my head with a hand. _Great. Just what I'll need to get through tomorrow's hangover._

Fast-paced footsteps suddenly sounded in the room across from mine, as if heading for the door. I panicked, fumbling for the doorknob and rushing inside my room, shutting the door behind me before I could get caught in my pajamas. There was probably a reason the musician was playing at night; perhaps he or she wanted some amount of privacy to practice. At the very least, I was positive that music like that wasn't made for an audience of girls in holey, oversized sweatpants.

I brushed my teeth and stumbled back to bed. As my thoughts became bleary once again, an echoing memory of beautiful piano notes wandered through my slowly forming dreams. I cuddled close to a pillow and smiled against its feather stuffing. It was as if the lullaby had been written for me.

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**_Author's Notes (July 14, 2010): _**_Special thanks go to **Aleeab4u** for pre-reading and helping me make some big decisions for this story. You can thank her for setting me straight on a major plot point about Edward's past... (But my lips are sealed on the details, so no trying to wheedle it out of me!) Thanks also to Project Team Betas **yellojello13** and **dinx**._

_Self-indulgence abounds here. All the B-grade movies mentioned in this chapter exist. All of them are hilarious and should be watched. Consider it the most awesome homework you've ever had. Start with "Troll 2."_

**_Author's Notes (January 25, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	5. Man vs Self

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm05-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm05-music_

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**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"** **CHAPTER 05: MAN VS. SELF**

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_The rain comes down like angry bees,_  
_And the streetlight flickers on._  
_I thought that I could overcome this all,_  
_But now I see I was wrong._

_"Alone Again" by Assemblage 23_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
I decided to leave my room when I heard Ian enter the kitchen early Sunday morning. His thoughts were pleasant to listen to, almost as soothing as the nebulous dreams that were yet filtering throughout the house; he went through a mundane checklist. _Coffeepot? On. Juice in pitchers? Check. Apples, oranges, bananas? Check, check, check._ He lived to make the guests in his home comfortable.

Closing and locking my bedroom door, I turned toward the stairwell, but I was stopped in my tracks by a lovely fragrance of freesias and roses. The scent had obviously faded in the night, but I thought that it might belong to the guest in the room opposite my own. It was a sweet, floral scent: female, early twenties.

Since taming my bloodlust, I'd found it easier to catalogue this sort of objective information without associating it with salty, sticky blood on my tongue. Without hunger crazing me at every turn, I could simply admire the bouquet, as it were.

Still, it was never wise to tempt myself, particularly when it came to young females who I knew from experience had a tendency to all too willingly fall into my traps—even those I didn't intentionally set for them. Sighing, I turned away from the scent and went downstairs.

After greeting Ian and politely refusing breakfast, as I had done each morning since I arrived at the bed and breakfast, I sat at one end of the long, white breakfast table. Newspaper flat on the wooden surface, I propped reading glasses up on the bridge of my nose; they weren't magnified, of course, but they made me appear more human by providing a flaw to my unnaturally "perfect" exterior.

I'd found that little things, like the reading glasses, made humans more comfortable around me. I had no desire to draw them closer into my predatory web, as I might have once; it was merely a matter of enjoying being more human, when I could be. It was nice to pretend sometimes, to believe I was as clueless about my own nature as the relatively unsuperstitious humans around me were.

As Ian hummed while frying bacon, I began to read _The Seattle Times' _leading headline—_Families on desperate search after newlyweds go missing in Seward Park_. I lost focus slightly when another fluttering heartbeat entered the room. Without moving my head, I regarded the petite, brown-haired woman out of the corner of my eye as she somewhat sleepily shuffled over to Ian. Though she wasn't close enough for me to pick up on the subtle nuances of her scent, I certainly caught a hint of freesias as she moved. Delicious.

I glanced away from my paper to stare at the woman's slender back and waist. There was something peculiar about her, something that bothered me.

When I realized what it was, it was as if my world had tilted.

I couldn't hear her thoughts.

Ian greeted her, calling her by name—_Bella_—his thoughts buzzing along with his speech; but even as she spoke to him, even as I knew she must surely be formulating replies in that head of hers, her mind remained quiet.

No, not quiet, I decided.

Completely, eerily, _infuriatingly_ silent. I was shut out, like a leper from an ancient city.

_How?_

I'd never needed to _make_ my ability work, just as humans don't think to breathe. Mind reading was natural to my unnatural state, completely involuntary. I'd woken to this existence with a dozen minds infiltrating my own, and since my transformation, my ability had only grown in power. What had started out as "hearing" everyone in a room had grown to hearing everyone on a street block, to everyone within a one-mile radius, then two-mile, and in the last decade, three miles for the inner voices I was more familiar with. I was hoping that was going to be as far as it'd go.

But try as I might to push my ability _now_, to wrap my mind around this human's fragile little skull, I could not hear her thoughts at all, even though she stood fewer than ten feet away from me. I wanted to go to her, shake her and ask how she was keeping me out. The silence should have been a welcomed change, but it only felt uncomfortable and foreign, almost threatening. It was patently absurd for _me_ to feel threatened, but that was exactly how I felt.

_What is she thinking?_

Unaware of the mass confusion she was causing, Bella went about making herself a cup of coffee with unsteady hands. She hadn't looked my way yet, but I hoped that when she did I might be able to read her, once I saw her eyes. As it was now, I could only see her side profile as she stared down at a coffee cup. A long scar ran from her right temple down to her soft jaw line; the skin was slightly pink there, ragged and raised along its edges. She obviously used her thick hair to obscure it, but it still stood out noticeably from her pale skin, at least to my superior eyesight.

Apparently she was not paying attention, for the coffee she'd been pouring soon overflowed, splashing out along the countertop, where it collected in the dips and grooves of the tile grouting. "_Motherfucker_," she murmured.

Laughter bubbled up out of me before I could suppress it. For one so meek and mild looking, and certainly _quiet_, I never would have pegged her to swear over something as ordinary as spilled coffee. It was so strange not knowing what she was going to do or say!

She looked up at me suddenly, catching my stare. I watched as a brilliant, blood rose blush lit her cheeks. Her heart thudded faster—_thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump_. The pulse point on her neck twitched and jerked rhythmically, gaining my attention, and I had to curb the innate desire to lick my lips in hunger.

I really should have hunted yesterday.

With some effort, I forced my eyes back on hers. They were a dark cocoa brown, deeper-seeming than most brown eyes I'd seen—wise in a way that seemed far too tired and ancient for the youthful, heart-shaped face that regarded me. What story lay behind those eyes? I wondered. She was an enigma dressed in faded jeans.

I found myself once again attempting to find her thoughts, hoping that if I strained hard enough, I might grasp them with my fingertips. But even when ignoring Ian's thoughts and the thoughts of the other waking members in the house, as best I could, I found nothing in the mental space around Bella. It was both intriguing and maddening. Who the hell did this woman think she was?

_What's wrong with you?_ I asked her silently. Of course, she did not answer my unvoiced question. My mind was as silent to her as hers was to me.

Long before I could have ever desired her to do so, she pulled away from our stare down; she frowned again, upon seeing the coffee on the countertop.

"Uh, Ian? Do you have something I can clean this up with?" Her voice was soft, but a little gravely. Perhaps she'd been drinking.

Looking back over his shoulder and chuckling at her, Ian threw her a dishcloth, and she went about cleaning her mess, but I didn't miss the way her eyes cut over to me every few seconds. She chewed on her plump bottom lip, bringing it under her two front teeth over and over again, gnawing away so vigorously that I was amazed she didn't draw blood.

All three of us were very lucky that she didn't. As it was, I already needed to hunt after spending most of the previous day sitting next to Alexander in his posh—if heavily-curtained—studio apartment. Animal blood was perhaps a substitute, but being the supernatural equivalent of an alcoholic seated by a bottle of brandy for hours on end was not exactly easy.

A few moments passed before Bella looked up at me again. "Would you like a cup of coffee, too?" she asked. Her eyes widened a split second later, as if she were embarrassed to have spoken. I didn't understand the sentiment at all and realized that I had relied upon telepathy for so long that I had less understanding of facial expressions without hearing the thoughts that accompanied them.

I felt myself smiling, even as I tried to remain aloof. I stared at her over the useless lenses of my glasses. "No, thank you," I said. "I don't drink coffee." She would never guess my preferred drink, and I was fairly certain that Ian didn't keep such things in his pantry.

She nodded, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows as she turned away—an annoying crease that I wanted to rub away from her skin.

I forced my eyes back to the newspaper, but the words no longer held my attention. Bella clearly felt embarrassed that I'd turned her offer for coffee down, perhaps even disappointed, but I couldn't be sure of any of the reasoning behind those emotions. I felt so clueless.

My muscles tensed as she moved away from the coffeepot. She seemed more awake than when she'd entered the kitchen, but she still walked with a slight shuffle, as if she weren't surefooted.

She sat at the opposite end of the table, which became a yawning white chasm between us. A strange, unfamiliar part of me wanted to move closer, but I forced myself to stay where I was. I wanted to figure her out, not scare her.

Or eat her in my frustration.

I stared at her bony fingers as they hovered around her coffee cup, undoubtedly seeking the steaming warmth, as I'd watched so many humans do over the decades. Seeking warmth was one of the most basic elements of human survival.

A part of me wanted to feel her warmth. Outside of Lucky and the wildlife I'd hunted these past few years, I'd had no close contact with warm-blooded mammals; the last human I had touched was Renée. I didn't need the warmth to survive, but I missed it. Not having it left me cold in a way that had nothing to do with survival.

It was unfathomably cruel that this existence stripped me of nearly all my human nature, but left intact the desire to be connected to something. I missed physical touch, but I knew better than to give into my desires.

Bella said nothing else to me, and I openly watched her face as she gazed out the window at the backyard gardens, a distant sadness darkening her eyes as she took in the blossoming flowers that were bathed in muted morning light. Her eyes shut seconds later, her lips parting as she breathed in and out in tired little sighs.

So curious, so confusing.

"Not a morning person?" I heard myself saying.

Her eyes flew open, and I held back a smile. "No—no, I guess not," she answered. A lovely little pout set along her lips as she eyed my shirt. "You sure seem to be, though. You're all up and cheery."

It was difficult for one to be a morning person when he had no need for sleep, day or night. "I'm not sure about that. I keep rather…_odd hours_." Or all hours.

Semantics, yet again.

Bella's piercing stare became unnerving as the seconds passed. The most natural vampiric response to nervousness was to freeze in place, almost as if in a state of mild catatonia, and so I forced myself to do the opposite: I fidgeted and squirmed, because that's what humans do under such scrutiny. Removing my glasses, I leaned back in my chair and scrubbed at my eyes with the heels of my palms.

"What brings you here?" she asked after taking a tentative sip of her coffee. She grimaced, her button nose turning up, upon finding the drink was still too hot for her liking.

"Well, this was one of the few quieter places that permitted animals," I replied, looking out at my dog—my only companion in the world, really—who was in the backyard. "And music," I said. "Gary and Ian have a lovely instrument in the room I'm staying in."

She smiled as I did, and an inexplicable warmth spread throughout my cold being. "I've been helping a pianist with some composition work." _And trying not to scare him to death_, I added silently. Poor Alexander. At the best of times, he was a shy, nervous recluse; welcoming a being into his house that frightened him with his proximity was a difficult thing, but he did it for the music. Like it was for me, so much for Alexander came down to the notes on the music sheets, the notes in his head and ears. We had that in common, if nothing else.

"So you were the one in the music room. You were playing last night," Bella declared.

"Did I wake you?" Guilt hit me as I took in the dark circles that surrounded her eyes. She looked so tired, so fragile. "I'm sorry, I—"

She waved a hand at me, but my guilt did not subside. "I sleep a little strangely when I've had a lot to drink…and, well, I did last night." She laughed quietly and shook her head. "Besides, you play beautifully." Another enticing blush painted her cheeks. "I'm glad I was awake to hear your music. Even if a lot of it is very sad."

If she only knew.

"Not everyone thinks it is," I said. "There are many opinions about what my music means and sounds like." Of course, most of those opinions were idiotic, just like the humans who held them, but I didn't say that.

Frowning, she grumbled, "I don't think they're really _listening_, then."

_Perceptive girl. _

"You're right. Most don't."

Leaning back in my chair again, I looked out at the gardens. Lucky was milling about at one end of the yard, occasionally jumping up as he snapped his slobbery jaws at a stray bumblebee. There was so much life in him and surrounding him—and so much death in me. Try as I might to memorialize my innocent victims, my efforts were inadequate in the end. They were still dead. The music didn't bring them back from the dirty, makeshift graves I'd given them, nor did it often communicate their lives to the few who listened. The families I'd ruined were not repaired through music.

I said to Bella, "Many listen because others do or because they believe that listening to piano music somehow makes them more sophisticated—more intellectual—either in reality or just through social perception. Few try to read between the lines, when it comes to instrumentation."

Of those who _did_ listen, few if any grasped the meaning behind my work.

"That sounds about right," she said with a little snort.

Why did that seem so cynical?

_Why does it matter?_

What I wouldn't give to read her mind! I had no doubt that I would find her thoughts to be the same uninteresting nonsense that I heard from humans all the time, but that somehow didn't make my inability to hear her any less aggravating.

"What's your inspiration?" she asked.

_The people I've murdered_, I thought easily, but I didn't answer her. Instead, I coughed against my fist distractedly, ignoring her words through the action. "So, you're here with friends," I hedged.

Bella's eyes narrowed at my change of subject, but she eventually relented with a nod. "They surprised me. Coming here was a birthday gift."

"_Your_ birthday, then?"

"Yeah," she said, frowning down into her still-full coffee cup.

Weren't humans supposed to be happy over birthdays? Most I'd encountered were at least secretly excited over the day, especially when they were yet as young as she. It was far too soon for her to be fretting over wrinkles.

"Well, happy birthday," I offered, internally cringing when I heard how awkward the sentiment came out. I had once been so charming around humans, but I was out of practice now.

I wanted to be charming to her.

_Careful_, I warned myself. _You know what using that charm was about in the past. You know what it led to…_

Bella seemed oblivious to my awkwardness, however. A soft smile played on her lips, and it warmed me once more. "Thank you," she said simply before ducking her head again, veiling herself in thick, dark waves of hair that had fallen out of the clasp at the back of her head. The natural veil made her more difficult to read, and I wanted to push the strands out of the way. I _needed_ to see her face.

A moment later, laughter filtered in from the living room as the two remaining guests—Bella's friends, I realized—and Ian's partner Gary spoke to each other. Bella turned in her seat and waved at the two young women who entered the kitchen a moment later. As Gary went to Ian's side and began chopping apples into slices, I attempted to swallow my annoyance over having our conversation interrupted by Bella's friends. It took considerable effort on my part, truly.

One of them, a toothpick-skinny blonde-haired woman, immediately glanced at me from where she stood with her hand on the back of Bella's chair, her fingers ineffectually digging into the wood. She didn't give me the glance I usually received, the one of mixed curiosity and barely-contained lust; instead, she looked on warily, like a skittish animal caught in the sight of its predator. It was an oddly appropriate response to what I was, but I knew she wasn't wary of my nature, just my sexuality. She noted all the doorways in the room, as if planning for a quick escape. I had sadly been in enough minds to know that someone must have abused her in the past.

Beside her stood a very tall woman who was speaking quietly to Bella and worrying over her wellbeing. _She obviously didn't sleep well_, she thought, looking over Bella's features._ She can't keep on like this._

_Keep on like _what? I nearly growled in frustration as the woman's thoughts changed to fit their conversation, which was now on the topic of a chemistry class that she—Angela, I learned—was taking in college.

"Have you had breakfast?" the blonde-haired woman asked Bella, while happily accepting a plate of bacon and eggs from Ian. She was trying desperately to quash her fear of me. _He can't hurt you. You're in a room full of people. He would never hurt you. He's just a stranger—probably a really great guy._

Her instinctual fear was much closer to the mark, even if it was misdirected.

"Thanks, Lauren, but I'm not hungry," Bella said with a shake of her head. Her eyes flickered over to me for the briefest of moments.

I frowned. She was small and bony, as if she were bad about caring for herself. She needed to eat. I wanted her to eat.

Of course, it wasn't my concern, so I tried to ignore it—and _her_—as the humans' breakfast commenced. I tried—and completely failed—to read my newspaper, my thoughts consumed by the silent mind at the other end of the table. Every now and again, I felt her stare, but our short conversation was now over. I'd probably never speak to her again, I realized, and that bothered me far more than it should have. I still hadn't figured her out, which was rather unsurprisingly frustrating to me, considering my accidental mind reading for the past nine decades.

Smiling, portly Gary placed a plate of sliced apples and oranges on the table. He pulled back and looked through the window at the backyard, his mind taking note of the way a gentle breeze shook the bushes. "Warm in here," he mumbled before going around Bella's chair to unlock and lift the window.

Soft wind whispered through the opened square, blowing past Bella as it flowed into the room. Her hair flickered up around her, like windswept autumnal leaves, and it was just enough to swirl up her blood scent, so that it hit me like a wrecking ball to the gut.

Out of all the time I'd spent on this earth, out of all the victims I'd hunted and murdered, I had never smelled anything as delicious as this woman. Had I not been seated, I would have fallen to my knees or jumped at her throat—one or the other. She was female and freesias, roses and freshly cut Bermuda grass, a brilliantly full-bodied wine that left me lightheaded and hungry for _more_.

I gripped at the sides of my chair, locking my muscles as I felt my ever-fragile hold on my humanity melt away. I held my breath, as I'd learned to do long ago in the face of inconvenient bloodlust. Vampires didn't need oxygen to survive, but cutting off what was essentially my most important sense was enough to put me on edge; it was my only option now, though.

It hardly helped—not when I was facing the most appetizing smell in the world. Holding my breath removed her scent from the present, but it was too fresh in my mind; it was not as if I could forget something as potent as _that_. The demon inside jerked at his chains with a sudden burst of strength and clawed his razor-sharp nails down my throat. I swallowed venom and flames.

_Her blood will soothe you_, the monster said in his familiar, silky purr. _You know this is what you were made to do._

_Remember how it used feel? How you'd work them up until they tasted the sweetest? You'd get them as wet as blood, and they tasted _so_ good, didn't they? You can do that again, you know._

_You can have her. You can even make it _good_ for her. That's more than can be said of others in your position, don't you think?_

_You don't have to feel guilty. It's just nature._

_You're the spider. She's the fly._

_Humans come and go. Death is part of life._

_Who is to say that today should not be her day to die?_

_No one has to know. You can leave the area._

My chest shook in a silent, tormented cry. I wanted her, as if she were the _best_ meal, the _last_ meal I would ever have. It was as if she were tailor-made for me—perfect blood and an interesting, silent mind that wouldn't bother me with its musings as I pulled every last drop from her veins. I imagined the sweet sin: Kiss, lick, bite, suck and suck and suck.

_Don't do it_, a gentler voice said to me.

The man's voice was relatively new, and so weak in comparison to the monster's, but I tried to focus on this rational part of myself, that little bit of goodness that I'd managed to grasp onto in the black shadows of my existence.

If I gave in, what would the last twenty-one years have been for? I couldn't go back now, not after this much time, not after so much work, not after finally discovering there was a substitute for human blood.

_But it's a poor one_, countered the beast. He was always full of black velvet temptation.

Fear and indecision kept me seated, kept my fingers grinding into the chair's wood, which chipped and ground easily at the pressure; it was taking everything in me not to snap the whole thing in half.

I was not calm enough. If I moved right now, I knew I would kill everyone. Parts of my mind were already plotting that path. I wouldn't drink from the others, but they would get in my way and could cause problems for me later. They would be collateral damage. I could snap their necks and be done with them in less than a second; then I could savor Bella's blood.

If I held my breath, surely I could seduce her before doing anything, make her feel comfortable. If I couldn't…I'd snap her neck. She wouldn't feel anything. I couldn't let her feel pain.

But as I looked up, I saw I was already scaring her.

Through the red haze muddling my vision, I saw Bella staring at me from the other end of the table, while Gary, Angela and Lauren spoke beside her, completely unaware of the immense distress at either end of the table. Bella's eyes were wide in alarm, and her heart stammered through an unnatural, thunderous tattoo. I didn't have to be able to see myself through her eyes to know that my carefully crafted façade had fallen away moments before; I knew my eyes would be black, my face hard and menacing.

And I knew that if I breathed in again, I'd smell her adrenaline, knew that her already-perfect blood would somehow be even more enticing. On her cheeks lay another curiously beautiful and maddeningly delicious blush that only furthered my hunger.

Another breeze passed through the window, kicking up her hair again, and I knew that a single breath would end everything and everyone in this room.

Her life and my own pitiful excuse for one would go down most violently.

My control had improved over the years, and I'd worked especially hard to master it since giving up human blood entirely, but this was different. Nothing I had done or been through could have possibly prepared me for this moment.

But as I stared into brown eyes, striving with everything in me to keep the monster in his cage, I thought of Renée and of the horrible mistake I'd nearly made two decades ago that had so thoroughly changed my unchanging existence. I could _not_ go back to what I had been before that night. I wouldn't—not even in the face of this temptation.

Renée's blood had smelled of freesias, too. It was _almost_ comical. Who knew petite women and a flower native to Africa would be my undoing?

In an odd sort of way, Bella even reminded me of Renée, as she stared at me in fear and confusion. Her face was that same soft heart shape, her skin the same creamy white, beyond the ragged pink scar.

As the seconds wore on and our eyes remained locked, the venom kept flowing down my throat in an unending stream of slick, sickly sweet syrup. Burn. Swallow. Burn. Swallow. Burn. Swallow. I did not breathe, though, and the longer I held my breath, the clearer my head became.

I was still a coiled cobra waiting to strike, but I decided Bella's fear was enough, that it _had_ to be enough for me to stop. Killing this woman would be like killing myself. It would be the murder of five hundred and sixteen innocent people, all over again. It would be the undoing and undermining of every memorial I'd composed.

_Leave her be_, the man said.

Digging my fingers into my palms until I felt pain, I rose from the breakfast table, distantly aware that the chair toppled to the floor behind me, that Gary called my name as I swiftly exited the house through the back door. Bella stopped him from coming after me. I supposed she knew a monster when she stared one in the eye.

The monster growled in agony as I ran.

I didn't breathe until I was a good thirty feet away, and still the fire roared. It was unlike anything I had ever endured. It was nearer to the inner flames of the transformation from man to vampire than it was to simple bloodlust.

Everything was falling apart, spiraling downward.

Because of a fucking breeze.

Because of blood.

Again.

It _always_ came back to blood.

I knew I couldn't return to The Rosebud until she was gone. The bloodlust abated in the fresh air, but the pain remained, and I knew that a large part of me still wanted to go back into the house and kill everyone, if only to taste her flawless nectar. I knew it would soothe the burn that seemed to be eating through my throat and down into my chest, down into everything I was. I wanted to be angry at her for causing me such pain, but it was I who was at fault. _I_ was weak. _I_ was evil.

She was innocent.

I was not.

I gave a dry, high-pitched whistle, and Lucky came bounding up to me, happy as ever; he didn't even seem to register my agitated state. My hands were shaking when I bent down to one knee and ran my fingers over his small, shaggy head. It was hard to contain my strength at the moment, but I loved the damn dog far too much to hurt him. "I'll be back in a little while, pup," I told him, my voice surfacing in a dry rasp. "Be good." He looked at me with trusting brown eyes and licked the inside of my wrist. I really didn't deserve his strange, unconditional love, but I was selfish enough to take it.

For the sake of keeping up appearances, I rounded the house and went to my car, which thankfully only smelled of Lucky and me. I couldn't exactly go running off at vampire speed in daytime Seattle.

So I drove.

And drove.

And hunted.

And then I drove some more.

And I began to wonder why I hadn't brought Lucky, why I hadn't left the bed and breakfast and Seattle for good. I could have. My work with Alexander had finished yesterday. I had only stayed another day, with the intention of visiting the Seattle Art Museum. I could have left money, taken my dog and suitcase, and simply _left_, but I had't done that. I left Lucky there.

I didn't have to speculate for very long as to why my subconscious led me to leave him behind. He was a reason for me to go back, a reason for me to return…_to her_. I still wanted Bella. I wanted her lifeblood, and I wanted her mind. If I'd thought the pull to Renée had been difficult to ignore, it was only because I had not encountered _this_ woman. She was in a league of her own.

By mid-afternoon, I turned back toward the bed and breakfast, completely unsure of what I would do once there. What good could possibly come from seeing her again? Was she even staying another night?

It was difficult to know which side of me was in control. The man said, "Get Lucky and turn away from this." The beast told me to go back, to recommit to the life I'd once led. I drove in circles more than once, feeling as though I had two warring personalities.

The car that Bella had come in with her friends was gone by the time I got back. I was once again the sole guest at the bed and breakfast. A strange, contradictory knot of anger and relief formed deep in my stomach. The monster was frustrated that Bella had gotten away, but the man felt at peace. _She's safe_, he seemed to sigh.

Gary and Ian were watching television in the living room when I entered. They looked at me from where they sat on their couch, a confused wariness in their eyes.

"Are you okay, Mr. Masen?" Ian asked, muting the television.

"You sure ran out of here fast," Gary commented. In his memory, he saw me moving in a blur to the backyard. A man of science at heart, he was trying to calculate how I had moved at such a seemingly unnatural speed; the only conclusion he was willing to consider thus far was that he had actually missed some of my movement, that his eyes had failed, and his brain had filled in the blanks with poor data.

When humans saw too much, it was best to play dumb, as if nothing strange had happened. Modern, human skepticism usually protected my kind. "I'm fine," I answered in the soothing tone I reserved for unfortunate situations like this one and for when I wanted to unfairly get my way. "I remembered I was late for an appointment and had to leave quickly. I'm sorry if I caused any alarm."

Ian was going to say something, but Gary stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. He was rightfully unnerved by my presence and didn't think I should be pressed. "That's all right," he said in a placating tone. "We've had to run out on short notice before ourselves." His eyes flashed over to Ian. "Are you staying another night?"

"No, I don't think so," I said, surprising myself. "I'm only going up to pack now."

Ian nodded slowly. "O-okay, just come down and tell us when you're ready to leave."

I only had one bag, though, and it was packed. Instead, when I went upstairs, I picked the lock to the bedroom Bella had stayed in; the monster was very pleased to find it hadn't been cleaned yet. I scoffed. As if it would matter. I was sure that her scent wouldn't wash out any time soon. Surely not even bleach could cut through this.

Carefully, silently closing the door behind me, I fell onto her bed, drinking in her scent like the masochist I was. I buried and rubbed my face into her pillow, fisted my hands into the sheets she'd lain between.

It felt as though my body were vibrating, humming with a million unspent and curious energies. This close to her concentrated scent, I burned for her blood, just as I burned to unlock the secrets of her mind. This close to where she had lain, I even lusted for her body. It was a sudden, powerful urge that easily surpassed any sexual desire I had felt in the past.

I had never been physically attracted to a human before, but now I felt an all-consuming fire through my whole body, a fire more powerful than any attraction I expected myself capable of feeling, that left my cock hard and straining. I imagined tasting her blood, imagined freesias on my tongue as I came undone inside her. Her mind would be all at once blissfully and frustratingly silent, even as she moaned in an ecstasy that only _I _would give her. As I sank my teeth into her flesh and pushed my cock into her tight body, I would not hear her inner cries of pleasure or pain.

_See? There'd be no guilt over this one_, the monster said.

_Kiss. Lick. Fuck. Bite. Suck, suck, suck._

Letting out a strangled groan into the pillow my face was pressed against, I turned on my side and unzipped my pants to free myself from the confines of my jeans. I couldn't remember ever being this painfully hard, not even after a particularly passionate hunt. I was steadily leaking venom, and I ran my fingers over it and down my length, gripping myself as hard as I imagined Bella's body might—tight, but with a delicious, perfect give.

With my head swirling with the scent of freesias and roses and green, green grass, I pumped myself, rocking my hips back and forth so forcefully that the bed shook and squeaked. I needed to slow down and keep quiet—I needed to stop—but I couldn't control the urges that had consumed me.

With a feral growl that reverberated around the room, I released a glistening stream of venom over the heavily-scented sheets. Under the pale afternoon light filtering through the window, my venom stood out starkly against the cream-colored bed linens. I panted as my body slowly calmed.

Though guilt and its cousin shame wanted to overwhelm me, and might yet do so, I mainly felt satisfaction from giving in to the animalism. Just _imagining_ Bella was better than the sex I'd had in the past.

Man and monster were in curious harmony as my hand drifted downward once again.

* * *

Each night, just as the moon began to fill the sky with its soft glowing light, Gary and Ian took a leisurely walk around their property. While they were gone, I pulled the sheets off Bella's bed, crumpling them into a pile by the door in an effort to hide half a dozen obvious stains. I folded and kept her pillowcase in my back pocket.

As if being a vampire was not bad enough, I was now a fucking pervert who carried around mementos.

Though my body was calmer after an hour or two of tainting Bella's bed sheets, my head was still racing through all the possibilities surrounding this strange young woman.

Leaving her alone no longer seemed to be one of those possibilities. My senses, my mind, my body were all filled with one thing that pulsed through my consciousness like a steady heartbeat: Bella, Bella, Bella.

I wanted more, and I was afraid to realize that I was not sure what _more_ represented.

_Yes_, hissed the monster.

_You can't have _everything, the man warned, but he had become strangely quiet on the matter of whether I should be around her.

That was how it came to pass that I illegally acquired Lauren's address from the computer in Gary and Ian's bedroom—another bedroom whose lock had picked. I added this to my list of sins.

* * *

Lauren—Lauren _Mallory_, according to her credit card details—Angela and Bella lived in a small residential area in the middle of Port Angeles, Washington. The slightly rundown home they lived in—a rental, I could only hope—was a two-bedroom house with an attic, a small backyard and an old roof that desperately needed to be retiled. Heated by a heat pump, the house smelled musty and old as I lurked outside in the shadows, like the foul creature I was.

It had been far too easy to get this far, to get so close to her. Gary and Ian hadn't even password-protected their spreadsheets. I'd gotten Lauren Mallory's information, placed money in an envelope for Gary and Ian, and left with Lucky in the passenger's seat—in less time than it took for them to return from their evening walk. By speeding, I cut a three hour drive from their home in the outer suburbs of Seattle, to Port Angeles, down to two, and I stopped at the first hotel I came across in the tourist town. They accepted pets of Lucky's size, and so I'd left him there, tipping someone three hundred dollars to make sure he was fed and let out on occasion, and made my way to Lauren's home, in hopes that I could find out more about Bella.

I'd not expected Lauren's home to also be Bella's. In a mere handful of hours, I had tracked down the place she was most likely to let her guard down in.

_It's all so easy. It's like fate _wants_ you to suck her dry_, the venomous devil told me.

The only thing that had slowed me down at all was to find their home was empty when I arrived around nine o'clock. It gave me reason to pause, to consider my actions, and despite my discovering that at least one of the windows was unlocked, I still lurked outside, debating with myself in overgrown and scratchy holly berry bushes. What on earth was I doing?

In fewer than twenty-four hours, I'd gone from having some modicum of a…well, if not peaceful, then _tolerable_ existence, to _this_. And what _was_ this, exactly?

Was I _hunting_ this girl?

_Yes_, the monster said.

_No_, the man replied simultaneously. _You only want to understand her._

Was that all?

Was I really so daft and weak-willed that I couldn't handle the _unknown_ that she presented me with?

Confusing questions continued to swirl in my mind, questions I had no answers to. They were _nearly_ as frustrating as the emotional turmoil. I felt excited and ensnared, afraid and aroused, infuriated and intrigued, possessive and protective and predatory.

_Conflicted_. That was the word, and it was the only thing that kept me outside. Running into a situation with conflicted emotions was exactly what I had done with Renee, even if that had ended on a somewhat strangely positive note.

Angela returned to the house around ten, driving up in an old, white Camry that had a badly-dented fender; Lauren arrived shortly after on a motorbike, stupidly sans helmet. Neither thought of Bella for any length of time, dedicating only the occasional, fleeting thought to their friend.

_Wonder when she'll get home? _

_I hope Bella finds a new job tomorrow. We can't make rent without her._

Fleeting as their thoughts were, they only added to the puzzle that was Bella.

Both Lauren and Angela had long gone to bed by the time Bella pulled up in the driveway in her old gray and black Honda. It was nearly two in the morning.

Cloaked in darkness, I held my breath and watched her from a distance. She was heartbreakingly…_lovely_…in the gray-blue moonlight that shone through her windshield. Her hands were folded, raised and resting along the curving arch of the steering wheel; she pressed the left side of her face against her fingers. A thrilling, almost frightening sensation rippled through me; she was angled so that she faced me, though I knew her eyesight was far too weak to perceive my form in the shadows. I saw her, but she did not see me, even as she looked right in my direction.

I could even see the finer details, the way her lips were bowed downward, the way her brow was slightly wrinkled. And I could see redness around her eyes—a sign of weariness and tears. My chest clenched painfully at the sight, and I rested a palm over my still heart.

What was this woman's story?

She stayed in her car for fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds; her heart beat one thousand and forty-six times. Twice, I contemplated killing her. Three times, I wanted to comfort her. I did neither in the end.

When she finally got out of her car and headed toward the front of the house she shared with her two friends, she was humming a haunting, forlorn tune, but for several seconds, all I could think about was her blood and pulse. _Thump-thump-whoosh, thump-thump-whoosh._ It beckoned to me as surely as one of my high-frequency whistles called Lucky from a distance.

My head cleared after a moment, allowing me to focus on the hum that passed through her lips. Though she was in a key slightly lower than I'd written, I recognized the piece immediately.

It was one of my swan songs.

The innocent, quiet way she sang it sent a fearful chill through me. I never wanted to write _her_ swan song. It was that fear that drove me into the darkness, running away from my weak and curious prey.

And yet, no matter the mounting fears, no matter how far I might run, I knew I would return, for Bella pulled at me, yanking an invisible rope to my chest.

* * *

**_Author's Notes (July 29, 2010):_**_ Thanks should go out to ProjectTeamBeta's **duskwatcher** and **itsange**. Also, thank you to **Aleeab4u** for pre-reading and putting up with my rambling._

**_Author's Notes (January 25, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	6. Killer Curiosity

**_Chapter pic: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm06-pic_

**_Chapter music: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm06-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 06: KILLER CURIOSITY**

* * *

_Wave goodbye_  
_To what you were._  
_The rules have changed._  
_The lines begin to blur._

_"With Teeth" by Nine Inch Nails_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
I ran away from Bella, away from her scent and body and the frightening hold she had over my thoughts and emotions. I ran through forests, taking down any animal that crossed my path, and yet there was little relief. I skulked down deserted back alleys, searching for answers and solutions where I knew none were to be found.

I stole human blood.

Lucky growled at my satchel of sin when I entered the hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. It never ceased to amaze me how well this silly mammal knew me, considering his complete lack of self-preservation in the face of my vampirism. Lucky, I had learned some time ago, could be instinctual when he wanted to be, and he knew that what I had tucked away in the canvas bag was nothing good for either of us.

I growled back at him until he whimpered in submission. There was a bizarre, ongoing battle between us as to who was the alpha male in this relationship.

Sitting on an ugly, multicolored bedspread, I stared at the satchel that lay between my feet on the floor. The bag's flap was pulled back, revealing fourteen bags of human blood—roughly five liters. A human. A meal.

For some reason, I barely remembered stealing it. I knew I broke into a building and that when I'd left, a satchel was slung over my shoulder, but the rest was a blur. My thoughts had only been on Bella and her eerie rendition of "Katrina's Tears," a piece I had written for an eighteen-year-old girl I'd killed nearly twenty-nine years ago.

I had pulled Katrina Martinez from the grubby clutches of a Baltimore street gang, only to murder her hours later in the shoddy tree house in her family's backyard. It was a roofless and crooked tree house, rotting at its edges, and had been built by her mostly absent father, a man whose breath she remembered as always smelling of cigarettes and beer. Her final thoughts, which were joined by a flood of salty teardrops, had been of her eight-year-old half-brother, Manuel, and how she hoped he would not make the same mistakes she had. She had begged me to spare her, praying to the Virgin Mary, and writhing until she became too weak from blood loss.

Katrina's flawed goodness, her tears and wordless pleas would be with me forever; her caramel-brown skin and eyes haunted me almost as much as Bella did now. The frail human in me did not want Bella to become another Katrina Martinez at the hands of the less human side of my nature, even if it would be so_ easy_ to give into the temptation.

Would drinking human blood really quell the thirst Bella had fueled?

For some reason, I doubted it.

It was not normal thirst she provoked. These were not the flames I entertained around all other humans. This was a wildfire, come to devour and devastate. Of course, the thirst I felt was only part of the problem. Bella, as a person—as an unbelievably silent-minded creature—was the other part. I burned for more than her blood.

At seven in the morning, I held my breath and poured room-temperature blood into the bathtub, allowing cold shower water to wash it down in a swirling sea of pink. I would not become the feral, red-eyed beast again. I _wouldn't_. I made silent apologies to the lives I'd affected through my theft—one sin among many.

When the sun surprisingly became too bright for me to venture out, I lay on the lumpy bed, Lucky curled up to my side as I blindly channel surfed. The pillow faintly smelled of Bella since I'd replaced the crisp hotel pillowcase with the one I'd stolen from her room at the bed and breakfast. I saw nothing on the screen.

* * *

I avoided Bella that night and instead chose to hunt again, even though I had the day before. Seemingly unable to leave Port Angeles, and yet too afraid to allow myself anywhere near her, I hunted in the endless depths of the Olympic National Park as a precaution, until my whole body felt bloated and grotesque. _Should_ I cross paths with her again or—more likely—should I stalk her like prey in a fit of poor judgment, I would, at the very least, not do so on an empty stomach.

On Wednesday, the rational, more human side of me considered returning to Damascus. It was the safe, reasonable option, not only for me, but also for Bella. There was routine there: composing, hunting, mowing the lawn, Lucky's walks, my halfhearted masturbation. It was what it was—normalcy, or the closest I'd managed to come to the concept as a vampire. Most importantly, Bella would not be in Oregon to tempt me.

Unfortunately, regardless of its being a good idea, I had no desire to return to my makeshift life. Deep down, I knew that it was pointless to leave. I would eventually come back here, back to Bella, whether I made a conscious decision to do so or not. The strong pull I had begun to feel on Sunday was still there, pulsing and writhing in my chest, as if it was a living heart, and somehow I knew it would not go away. It burned in me, just as surely as her scent did.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I did what all nosy humans do when they want to know more about someone but are too afraid to ask questions: I used my laptop and searched the internet.

It took less time than I expected to find something for the keywords _bella "port angeles_." The first several results were related to an Italian restaurant in the city, Bella Italia, but by the eighth result, I locked onto a relevant news article from 2007: _Sophomore Isabella Swan Awarded Frances and Gunnar Fagerlund English Studies Scholarship_.

The article was brief—more press release copywriting than journalism—but it provided some information. From it, I could gather that Bella—_Isabella_ Swan—was likely a junior at Port Angeles' Peninsula College this year, and she'd excelled enough in her sophomore year to be awarded a scholarship in English.

Included was a picture of her, looking uncomfortably awkward and windblown in front of a nondescript, orange-bricked background that made her appear even more washed out and pale than she did in person. Despite the obvious awkwardness, her eyes were lighter in the photo, and her face was still a little youthfully round like a china doll's. The scar was there, however, revealed as the wind blew hair out of her face. The dusty, rose blush on her cheeks led me to groan and swallow back a flood of venom.

_So mouthwatering._

Surprisingly, that was the only relevant result I found. There were no raucous college party pictures, no high school mentions or public profiles. Apparently Isabella Swan was as off the grid to her fellow humans as she was from my mind reading. It pacified me slightly, to know she was a mystery to her own kind as well, but it was a short-lived comfort.

I wanted—no, _needed_—more.

* * *

With considerable effort, I made it through another day without going to Bella's home. I hunted, walked Lucky, saw a movie, read several books and spent hours with my face buried in the fading scent of Bella's pillowcase, which was now the preferable location for my ten o'clock routine. It was shameful, but I did it anyhow.

In short, I obsessed but still had no idea what I should do about my obsession. All I could hope to do was distract myself. The average human lifespan was only eighty years, after all, right?

Seeking distraction, I made my way to East First Street's Books & News on Friday. It was the only bookstore in Port Angeles that was apparently not geared toward lost and bored tourists or new age types. It was a few buildings down from Bella Italia, which I loitered in front of for several minutes. I just stared at the name, abnormally still as humans passed me by, peeking at me covertly as they talked into their cell phones. I stared until a waiter began heading for the main entrance to see if he could persuade me to come inside. I had no desire to deal with him and left.

Books & News' large wooden door announced my entrance with a trilling bell. Inside, the wire newspaper trays and dozen or so rows of bookshelves smelled of paper and ink. And while the building itself was rather old and dusty, all of the products for sale were new, with flashy covers featuring attractive people that publishers hoped would appeal to generations obsessed with television, video games and the internet. In one corner, stood a child-sized cardboard cutout of a teddy bear from a popular children's book series. He was skinnier than the cartoon teddy bears used to be.

It was blissfully quiet in the shop, the only sounds being steady breathing and the mental whisper of a few customers as they studied printed words. I counted five separate heartbeats, and for the first time in many days, I felt the discomfiting ache in my chest calm slightly. I let out a relieved sigh.

It was so calm and peaceful—my mind so surprisingly _not _on Bella—that it came as great surprise when I smelled her scent in one of the cramped aisles. I hadn't smelled her when I came in; perhaps too many had crossed over her path.

The scent was fairly fresh, but she wasn't within sight, and I assumed she had already come and gone. No one in the store was thinking of her. In her wake, she had left the lingering perfume of freesias, and for one brief moment, all I had the power to do was draw in the deepest breath I could; her scent was nearly dizzying. A faded burn tickled at the back of my throat as I smiled and reached for a collection of Percy Shelley poetry that my nose told me she had touched. I felt a thrill, knowing I was touching the same book that she had.

Her scent was strongest on a page containing the poem _Music, when soft voices die_. I stared at the title for several long, uncomfortable seconds before reading the poem.

_Music, when soft voices die,_  
_Vibrates in the memory,_  
_Odours, when sweet violets sicken,_  
_Live within the sense they quicken._

_Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,_  
_Are heaped for the beloved's bed;_  
_And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,_  
_Love itself shall slumber on._

It was a strange coincidence that she should be reading such a poem. Somehow, Shelley managed to put into words what I could only put onto staff paper. No matter how much time passed, how many lives came and went in the aftermath of my murderous days, I could never forget the voices or sweet scents of my victims.

A human life was such an impermanent thing, while my perfect recall and I were not. I was literally and figuratively—ironically, even—the vessel that my victims lived through. It made for a disturbing and burdensome weight. Gently closing the book, I squeezed it back into its place on the shelf, between Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ and Richard Sheridan's _The School for Scandal_.

Sneakers squeaked on the old wood flooring of the bookstore. "That poem's beautiful, isn't it?" a soft voice said. "It's one of my favorites, actually."

I looked up slowly, disbelieving my bad luck—_her_ bad luck. There, standing fewer than ten feet away from me, was Isabella Swan in a dark blue work smock, her hair windblown, tangled and somehow perfect—absolutely perfect.

She gasped in surprise when she saw my face. "Hi," she squeaked, her eyes wide.

I swallowed hard, choking down a mouthful of venom. I hadn't even taken a breath, but merely seeing her again, particularly when I'd least expected her, had me on a very narrow ledge. Even if my resolve to keep her alive was much stronger now than it had been days ago, I knew better than to trust myself—not with her, never with her.

I held my breath, thankful that I'd just sucked down a lungful of air, and nodded to her as politely as I could. I needed to save my air supply for necessary speech; my words would be few and far between.

Really, I should have turned around and left at that very moment, but I didn't.

A forced, uneasy smile lifted her lips as I stared at the circles under her eyes. She was so pale, and the circles were so dark, that were I not supremely aware of her heartbeat and potent blood, I'd believe her to be a vampire herself. She regarded me with some odd combination of curiosity and wariness.

_Well, at least we _both _feel curious and wary_, I thought.

"I didn't get to say goodbye to you last Sunday," she said as she stepped closer to me. She stopped when she was a few feet away, her chin lifting slightly so she could look me in the eye. While her posture was stiff, her eyes were earthy and warm…and calculating.

I listened as her heart thundered beneath her breast and watched as the pulsing vein in her neck twitched with new vigor. Even without smelling the scent of adrenaline in her veins, I knew she was nervous, but I had no way of discerning whether it was the monster or the man she feared. As I looked at her—so petite—the top of her head scarcely reaching the height of my shoulder, I marveled at our numerous differences. We were light and dark, weak and strong, transient and eternal. We had absolutely nothing in common, and yet there we were: two creatures of the universe, somehow in the same place, at the same time, and against unbelievable odds. Only a few years ago, I would have killed her as soon as we'd met, but she yet lived.

Carefully, I used some of my saved air. "I had to leave quickly on Sunday—appointment." My stilted speech made me sound like a fucking caveman.

Bella nodded, but her furrowed brow told me she was frustrated by my terse reply. "I never thought I'd see you again." She blushed then, and I nearly groaned at not being able to read her thoughts. "Do you live in Port Angeles?" she asked. "It's really only locals who come here. There's a touristy bookstore and souvenir shop down the road, if that's more what you need…"

I hesitated. I _didn't_ live here. My home was in Oregon. And yet, as I stared at her, I could not imagine leaving Port Angeles, much less _leaving her_. So, I nodded.

Apparently, I lived in Port Angeles now. This was news to both of us.

Bella's face relaxed. "Great," she said, and her forced smile gave way to a genuine one, even though her drumming heartbeat suggested she was still far from calm. "You know, I didn't even catch your first name last time."

_Is she flirting?_ It was hard to tell without her thoughts to guide me.

She pointed her two index fingers at her nametag sheepishly. "I'm Bella—Bella Swan." Blushing, she extended a hand for me to shake.

I trembled as I took her fingers in mine with the slightest of pressure. She was hot, like asphalt beneath an orange summer sun, and my fingers instinctively brushed against the pulse point on her wrist. _Life_.

Bella was looking down at our joined hands curiously; my chill skin probably unnerved her. I pulled away. Her hand dropped down to her side, where her fingers sought out a frayed corner of her work apron.

"I'm Edward Masen," I said.

She ducked her head and smiled a little. "Edward." The whisper was so quiet that I doubted she'd meant for anyone to hear it; perhaps she wasn't even aware that she had spoken at all.

Hearing my name on her lips was strangely pleasurable, and I shared her smile, even as venom gathered at the back and sides of my mouth.

She looked over her shoulder to the register, where two customers were waiting for her. "You know, I should get back to work," she said apologetically. "If you need any help finding anything, though, just tell me. I probably know this bookstore and the books in it better than I know myself."

I nodded and used the last of my air. "Thank you, Bella."

I hovered around the shelves, taking careful breaths when I deemed myself far enough away from her. Having been a glutton lately helped curb my primal desire to hunt her, but I was unwilling to go any closer than was necessary. It was risky enough to be in the same building.

I needed to leave.

But I stayed. And stayed and stayed.

One hour turned into two, turned into three, as Bella and I shared timid and questioning glances when she wasn't in the backroom. I chose books, papers, and magazines from the shelves, in a feeble attempt to ignore her, but none of them appealed to me. Even with the advanced ability to multitask, I could only focus on Bella.

As the human lunch hour neared, the bookstore had fewer patrons. I supposed not many humans had a desire to read, when they could be shoveling food in the hour of free time they had from work. Bella didn't seem to be taking a lunch break for some reason, but I began to hear her stomach rumble and growl from across the room, where she was shelving new, featured inventory on the shelves directly behind the register. Stomach growling had always amused me for some reason—perhaps it was the fact that such threatening sounds came from the stomach, as opposed to the mouth—and I found it difficult to hold back inappropriate laughter.

Somehow, Bella noticed this.

"What's so funny?" she asked from atop a small step ladder. She was stocking a top shelf, standing one step higher than she should be, and making me nervous as hell.

_Please don't fall._

There was enough distance between us that I could breathe comfortably, but I didn't have an answer for her. Without a good explanation, I raised the book in my hand and waved it slightly, as if to say it was the source of my amusement.

"Oh," she said. She pressed her lips into a hard line, as if trying to suppress her own laughter.

When I put the book back on the shelf, I saw its title: _Hitler and Stalin: Parallel Lives_. Not exactly humor writing of the year.

"So are you going to _buy_ any books today, or are you just here to keep me company?" Bella teased several moments later. I watched her stretch up on the ladder, two thin paperbacks lifted in her right hand. Her shirt rode up slightly on her back, and I stared at the revealed flesh and the small, teardrop-shaped birthmark that was above the curve of her hip. It was a flaw, a sign of her humanity. She had flaws, as all humans do, but I didn't find them jarring, as I typically did. Instead, I wanted to know the story behind every freckle and blemish, if only they could reveal some of her secrets.

I averted my eyes from her waistline. "I'm a picky reader," I said with a shrug.

"Do you—" Her words were interrupted by a gasp, and I watched in slow motion as she lost her balance and began to fall backward.

I ran to her at my fastest speed, holding my breath as I caught her waist and steadied her on the ladder. I could feel her thin stomach and floating ribs beneath my touch. Too much pressure and she'd bruise—or worse—beneath my touch.

"Shit. Sorry…" She gripped the top of the ladder tightly, her knuckles white from the iron hold she had on it. My hand rested on her lower back, seemingly frozen against her blaring heat. Her face was brilliantly flushed when she looked down at me. "Thanks, Mr. Masen."

I couldn't bear the formality and risked some of my salvaged air to correct her. "Edward."

"Thanks…Edward." My body hummed in satisfaction at hearing her speak my name once more. "I think you just saved me from a concussion." She stared down at the floor and the counter that was almost directly behind where the ladder stood. I felt her shudder at the same time I did. If she'd fallen, there would have been blood.

She could have hit her head, broken her neck or back. She might have even died from such a relatively simple fall. Humans were fragile beings made of silken flesh in a world filled with jagged thorns.

Moving from under my hand, Bella descended the ladder, and I took a few steps back. When she was safe on the ground and facing me again, she pushed hair out of her eyes, but wispy curls fell right back across her face. She gave a sweet, embarrassed laugh. "I really shouldn't do things like that. I'm kind of clumsy." She frowned. "To put it mildly."

Her eyes gravitated toward the bookshelves I'd previously been standing by. "You got to me so fast," she said in awe, even as her brow wrinkled in confusion.

I wanted to tell her that it was nothing, that I'd been closer than she realized, but there was a very good chance that I might end her life shortly after saving her from harm if I spoke too much and needed more air. I remained withdrawn and quiet and let her come to whatever conclusions she wanted. It was unnerving, not hearing her thoughts, but I had to believe that she was as oblivious as all other humans. She would come up with some "logical" explanation, surely.

I smiled at her sadly, my chest aching when I didn't feel confident enough to continue having a conversation. My muscles were bunched, as it was, knotted into stiff submission. I was keenly aware of the fact that we were alone since her boss had gone to lunch half an hour ago; fewer than three feet separated us. One part of my mind counted her heartbeats.

It was so easy to imagine how that steady beat would slow, slow, slow as I dragged blood through the side of her neck, as I pulled and pulled and pulled. Freesias and roses and sweet, green grass on my tongue…

The fire raged.

"I should be going," I said in a strangled voice and turned away from her wise eyes, from the call of her blood and the curiosity that was nearly crippling.

* * *

This time, I didn't try to stop myself from going to Bella's, and so it came to be that I sat in the bushes at the far end of the little house she lived in, waiting for the light in her attic room to turn off. Angela was asleep in her bedroom downstairs already, and Lauren appeared to be elsewhere, so it was only Bella's heartbeat and Angela's dreams that greeted me—well, those things and the thoughts of all their neighbors.

It was nearly midnight, but Bella was yet awake, despite her early shift at the bookstore. She moved about in what I suspected was a well-established routine. Sitting at a quietly-whirring laptop, she typed for a half hour, and then I heard her descend the stairs to enter the shared bathroom.

The shower ran for twenty minutes, and I would be lying if I said I didn't imagine her naked form, the way the water might cascade down her curves; how it would darken her already dark hair until it lay flat and brown-black against her back; it would curl forward along her front, over her breasts. I listened to a razor scratchily glide up and down her skin, to the way soap bubbles popped, and to the strange groan of old piping.

When she turned the shower off and got out to dry herself, I closed my eyes and pictured it was my hands holding the towel. Her eyes would stare into mine as I roamed her body with only the thin terrycloth to separate us. I might use the warming oil, but it wouldn't be like times past. I'd keep her around, maybe. Figure her out, _then_ drink her.

I saw her face in my mind's eye. "_Edward_," she moaned in my vision, and I was immediately hard beyond comprehension.

The soft click of the bathroom door pulled me from my perverse and impossible fantasies. I took a deep, steadying breath as Bella went up to her room a moment later. Neither of us needed me pulling a repeat of claiming her bed like some territorial dog.

With a snap of a switch, her room melted into darkness a little after one in the morning. I heard sheets rustle as she got into bed, and while I expected her to fall asleep quickly, her breathing did not slow in five or fifteen minutes. Or twenty. Or thirty. She tossed and turned. She groaned and fluffed her pillow and _tried again_. Though I hadn't slept since I was a human myself, I felt sorry for her. Many humans struggled with insomnia, their thoughts often frustrated and tired.

Bella's many efforts eventually turned to tears.

At her first whimper, I thought that perhaps she _had_ fallen asleep, that I had just missed the cues of her descent into rest, that she was dreaming, but then the whimper turned into a sob, and then a hiccupped gasp, and then a muffled wail as she wept into her pillow.

It took me several minutes before I realized that my own breathing was ragged, that I was holding my chest in sympathetic agony. _Don't be sad_, I silently willed her, wishing that there was something—anything—I could do. There was no thirst left in me at that moment, only pure and overwhelming concern.

It had been a long time since I had felt true and deep concern for a _living_ human.

When Bella quieted around three in the morning, I returned to my hotel room. Lucky was waiting for me, his ears and tail drooping, as if he were aware of Bella's crying and my own confusion.

I pulled at my hair. "What's happening to me?" I asked him.

He had no answers.

* * *

On Saturday, I followed her, deciding that if I was going to listen to her cry at night, there wasn't much difference in my seeing what she did during the day. And so it was that I watched from a distance as Bella drove from business to business, dropping off résumés and asking for work. It was a long day for her, starting just before ten and ending at eight in the evening, and I wondered how she planned to manage two jobs and her degree. The puzzle that was Isabella Swan only grew more confusing with each passing day.

I followed her home from work, afraid she might wreck her vehicle after having such a long day on so little sleep. But she made it home safely, had a short conversation with Angela and Lauren, and then went through the same bedtime routine she had the previous night. I noted that she didn't eat dinner.

She cried again, but this time I stayed after she fell asleep. Towering above the shrubbery I'd assigned myself to at this end of Bella's home, there was a large ash tree. It was tall enough that its highest boughs reached up past the roof of the house as they lazily swung in the wind. I frowned up at the tempting branches. Were I to climb them, I could see into her room.

I knew I shouldn't even consider doing something like that, particularly given the nature of Bella's scent, but of late, what I knew was logical and what I ultimately _did_ seemed to have little in common.

Perched up in the ash tree, I had a clear view of Bella's small room. It was simple, filled with a single-sized bed and a large work desk that had a closed laptop on it. A white, rectangular and shaggy rug covered most of the old wood flooring, along with a pile of dirty clothes and the pair of muddy Converse sneakers she'd been wearing at the bookstore the day before.

The only other piece of furniture in the room was a bookcase, its every shelf filled to the brim. Books were even littered atop the bookcase, and a few were stacked on the floor beside it. Most were old, clearly hand-me-downs or bought very used, with bent pages and old cover designs. Judging by the numerous compilations, she liked to read poetry, and she appeared to have a penchant for speculative fiction.

The most glaring thing about Bella's personal space was that she had very little in it that made it personal. There were no framed pictures hanging, no photos taped to walls. Beyond her love for books, there was absolutely nothing I could learn from looking into her room. Everything was nondescript, right down to the brown bedspread she slept beneath.

But then, when she had been asleep for an hour, something unexpected happened.

She began to talk.

"…mean insurance doesn't cover that? I've got the policy right in front…"

"Jesus, Dad. More goddamn fish…"

Sometimes it was very difficult to not laugh, but I was delighted, no matter how absurd her mumbled musings became. _Finally_ I had some gateway into her mind.

Bella dreamed, and I hovered outside her window like the perverse creature I was. I was not delusional. There was nothing normal about a six-foot-tall man hanging in the trees in the wee hours of the morning. But then, I _wasn't_ a man. I was a vampire, and above all, beyond the tears and twisted linens and sleep talking, Bella Swan was still my delectable prey.

I tempted myself with her scent, breathing in deeply against the glass window that barely separated us. The burn was muted by its presence, but it still raged more violently than the ache I felt around other humans.

Still, I didn't hunt her. Not this night.

* * *

As dawn approached, I returned to the hotel to change and walk Lucky. It was a good thing he had always been so amenable to housetraining, because I hadn't been the best owner of late, having been too busy either obsessing over Bella or following her. I believed the term for that was _stalker_.

Only an hour and twenty minutes had passed by the time I went back to Bella's house. Unfortunately, when I arrived, I found her car was gone from the driveway, and just as it had been last Sunday, I had absolutely no idea where she was.

Disappointed, I returned to my hotel room and evaluated my actions for the millionth time this week. I drew no solid conclusion.

I did know, though, that it was curiosity driving me now. My bloodlust had mostly been in check since I'd begun hunting more, and Id started acclimating myself to her scent the night before. I could probably afford to take a few more risks for the sake of getting information. I _had_ to understand her. It drove me insane that a week had passed, and I still knew so little about a simple human. Humans weren't supposed to be this complicated.

I checked on Bella's home several times throughout the day. Like the Sunday before, Bella returned late at night. Her eyes were red and tired as she stumbled up to her home and unlocked the front door.

She was exhausted. She didn't eat or shower or even brush her teeth. She went straight to bed, only discarding her shoes and jeans. I tried not to notice her pinstriped underwear.

This time, there were no tears, but as I watched her, hidden within the thick foliage outside her window, I didn't think that it was because she had no need to cry. I suspected it more a matter of her _already_ crying as much as she was able.

She slept fitfully, her fists knotting up in the sheets as she writhed and gasped. Her movements matched my own inner turmoil. I wanted to go to her—to do what, I didn't know, but the urge was there. Still, I was so afraid. What would happen if I lost control?

"_Please_," she cried, and it felt like she was crying for me.

I couldn't stand it any longer.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, I opened her window and slipped inside her room. There wasn't even a lock to mildly deter me.

Even without my sense of smell and the lack of personal decorum, I could feel Bella's presence in every corner and crevice of the room. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in my head, reverberating and embedding itself into everything I was.

I crept silently nearer, and I watched as gooseflesh rose up across her arms and the bare leg that was tangled above the bed comforter. Did she sense that there was a predator lurking in her bedroom? The fact that I didn't know—didn't know _anything_ for certain—was frightening and exhilarating.

As I came to her bedside, I watched in baffled amazement as the gooseflesh relaxed, and the tiny, blonde hairs on her arms resettled.

She spoke again. "Daddy, don't go… Don't leave me here…" She turned over, this time to face me. Her eyelids twitched and jerked as REM-sleep took hold of her. "I don't want to be alone…" She gasped again, but it was different this time, less an expression of surprise or fear. This time, she sounded pained, sounded as though she had cried for so long that she was now choking and hiccupping on her sobs.

I felt drawn to her, and through that pull, I felt an echo of her pain, even if I had no understanding of its details. All I knew was that I would gladly shoulder some of her pain, if it would just give this one woman some peace.

Crouching beside her bed, I brought up a shaky hand and carefully—so, so carefully—rested it on her covered back. I rubbed my hand in what I hoped was a soothing circle, using the same pressure I used on Lucky when he was nervous at the veterinarian's. With her being so petite and shivering, it almost felt like I _was_ petting a fragile animal; at the very least, I was touching something that was beneath me on the food chain. Baser parts of me were very aware of how easily I could kill her—or wake her and seduce her, _then _kill her—but I ignored them. This time.

To my surprise, she quieted beneath my touch and snuggled down deeper into her covers with a sweet, contented sigh. I pulled the sheets over her bared leg, taking several seconds to look at the slightly knobby outline of her kneecap, which was littered with several pale scars, down to the curve of her slender ankle bone, to the high arch of her foot and the five toes at the end of it. She had very graceful legs for one so supposedly clumsy.

I looked at her face, drinking in every feature. Like all humans, she was asymmetrical, but none of the flaws seemed to matter. Beneath the moonlight flowing past the ash tree and through her window, she was ethereal, regardless of the chicken pox scar beside her left eyebrow or the puffiness surrounding her closed eyes. Not even the long, jagged scar on the right of her face could sway my opinion of her. She was a beautiful human, I thought.

At one point in the night, I tried to remove my hand from her back, preparing to take my leave, but she immediately whimpered and reached out blindly in the darkness. "Edward."

My muscles locked into place, and I felt my eyes grow wide. _Logically_, I knew she was asleep. Emotionally, I felt as though I'd been caught in her bedroom, like the creepy monster I was. I returned my hand to her back, hoping and praying she'd not wake.

She only sighed, a small smile playing at her lips. "Edward," she said again. "Don't go…"

_I won't_, I answered immediately, silently, and I wondered what I was getting myself into. But I was powerless to it, to her.

Could she really be dreaming of me? What were the odds that she might know another Edward in this day and age and be dreaming of him? But for her to dream of me… Why? We had only met twice, and neither time had been what a human would consider "normal."

In the end, it didn't matter. I relished the fact that she _might_ be dreaming of me. It was enough to make me call Port Angeles home, to call _Bella_ home, for I knew without a doubt that wherever she went, I would now follow. There would be no more running away.

Would she send me away?

I decided that tomorrow would be a new day, a day where I would seek her out and get to know her. To do that, I knew I'd have to eventually face her scent and conquer the demon it would inevitably wake.

I could only hope that she would live through the night, that this strange woman wouldn't die beneath my strength and bloodlust. Removing my hand from her back, I took in a shallow, ragged breath.

* * *

_He eated her. The end. Just kidding! Maybe…_

**_Author's Notes (August 08, 2010):_**_ Special thanks to **duskwatcher**, who has very generously agreed to beta for me; to **Aleeab4u**, for pre-reading and discussing my shite with me; and to **PemberlyRose**, for telling me how much blood is in your average bag. (Don't ask how she knows this. She just does.) If you haven't already, check out the stories by these lovely ladies. They all write beautifully. Finally, thanks to **Camilla10** for rec'ing me._

**_Author's Notes (January 25, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	7. Sympathizing With Devils

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm07-pic_

**_Chapter music: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm07-music_

**_* _**_There's a "side-take" for this chapter from Esme's POV. (See the outtakes.)_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 07: SYMPATHIZING WITH DEVILS**

* * *

_"When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster?_  
_Did it become something else?"_

_From "Graceling" by Kristin Cashore_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
_I watched as my father faded away, leaving me in the place I'd come to dread. "I don't want to be alone…" I cried out, but it was useless. He was already gone._

_The sky was cloudy and cold stone grey, but there was no rain in the clearing this time. The hemlocks and pines stood like sentinels closely fencing me in, caging me, making the clearing small and claustrophobic. Distantly, a haunting piano tune echoed through the trees and outlying mountains, and as branches shifted beneath a gentle breeze, it was as if they were alive and vibrating with the music notes. Even my body seemed to hum with the sound._

_I was seated at a long, white table, a silver serving platter before me. There was no food atop it, only a messy, overflowing pile of bills. Those on top were stamped red with various forms of "overdue" or "late notice." _

_"Can't take the heat, Bells?"_

_I looked up in surprise, unaware that anyone had joined me. Jacob Black sat at the opposite end of the table now, which had grown smaller since I'd last looked at it. He was within reaching distance, but I kept to myself, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinizing stare._

_Bulky and nearly seven feet tall, Jacob was comically large in his chair, the equivalent of a dozen clowns exiting a miniscule circus car. His black hair was cropped short, so unlike the long ponytail he used to keep when we were young and in love. _

_"Can't take the heat, Bells?" he asked again._

_"I don't think I can," I said with a weary laugh. "I'm so tired. I don't know what to do anymore."_

_Jacob was still talking about the weather. "Heat's not all there is. Maybe you need the cold for a change. Change is good."_

_"You know I hate the cold." I didn't bother arguing with him that I'd already been in the cold for years now. He was speaking in riddles._

_"That's too bad." He looked up at the sky and grinned. __It was the grin he'd used when he gave me the promise ring that turned into a lie. I still had it buried deep in my sock drawer, wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away in a Ziploc bag. __"It's gonna snow," he said._

_True to his word, as if the heavens had obeyed him, snow began to fall in the clearing. It piled up quickly, until my feet were buried ankle deep in fluffy white powder, shackled to the earth by natural chains. Snowflakes stuck on Jacob's tan skin, and then quickly melted, so that he had tiny rivulets of water running down his face. It made him look older. It made it look like he was crying._

_Chief Jacob, that's what he looked like, and a world of difference lay between us._

_At some point, I became aware that I was dreaming, and I knew how it would go from here. The snow would pile and pile and pile until it reached my knees, hips, waist, breasts, and finally my head. I'd die of hypothermia, of not being able to breathe beneath the weight of powdery ice._

_It snowed and snowed._

_Jacob had continued to look up at the sky, but when he finally looked back down at me, he wasn't the same Jacob anymore. His face was ghostly blank, as if his spirit had been ripped right out of him, and his chocolate brown gaze was nowhere to be seen._

_His left eye was now eagle-golden, alert and trained solely on me. It didn't match the right one, which was coal black, a pupil unnaturally and completely dilated, so that no sliver of iris was left present._

_"Jake?" I whispered. I felt the hairs on my arms raise. _Danger_, a part of me whispered, but it was so quiet, so fleeting with its message, that I simply disregarded it._

_He stared, two-toned, but didn't reply._

_The snow was beginning to crush me with its hold, but it was surprisingly painless—an almost comforting embrace, rather than a suffocating constriction. I felt the pressure on my lower back—heavy and cool. For once, the cold didn't bother me. Perhaps Jake was right, after all. Maybe it'd be okay to die in the ice._

_It stopped snowing suddenly, and Jacob faded, then disappeared from the other end of the table. I expected to miss his hulking form, but I only felt the absence of his body heat. In my heart, I wished him well, but I didn't try to hold onto him—not this time._

_Having the snow cover me like this wasn't like drowning. There was no fear or rejection or sadness. It just was. I sat in the cold confines of my snow-cradled chair and breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of trees and crisp, icy air that made my lungs feel big, wide open and healthy. I breathed in and out…_

_And then I began to fade away, too. I reached out blindly for the hand that I instinctively knew would be there. "Don't go…"_

* * *

Today was one of those "let's cheer up Bella" days, courtesy of the one and only Alice Cullen. Whenever I called to check on Charlie, if Alice answered the phone, it always turned into some Oprah pep talk session. I was never sure why she gave a shit, but she often did, and I had to grudgingly admit that it was always just when I needed it most. It was like she was fucking psychic.

Alice and I were the same age and had both been at Forks High together, but it was Charlie's cancer that had brought us together. We'd never been close in high school, what with her being a Cullen and me being nothing short of a social retard. I knew her better now, but Charlie knew her more than I did. Alice almost always went to his house in Forks when Esme did, seeing as she was still living at home while building up her design business. Her odd hours made her available, and she was apparently happy to help out and enjoyed my father's company. They had developed their own unique friendship, wherein he was totally wrapped around her dainty pinky finger and took all of his medicine when she was around. I couldn't complain about that.

You wouldn't think Alice would have that kind of power over people. She was a tiny woman with a sprightly build made her deceptively innocent-looking, but she was indeed a force to be reckoned with, and sometimes—no matter how little I _actually_ knew her—I thought I might be wrapped around one of her fingers, too. It wasn't a bad thing, though. I could imagine we might be really good friends, if I ever had a chance to get to know her outside of my father's medical woes and my breakneck attempt to pay his many bills with his laughable pension and my meager paychecks.

For now, she was trying to convince me that I would soon find a job. Having been consistently turned down all last week, I wasn't so fucking confident.

"Everything will work out, Bella. You'll see," she said, her sing-song voice irritatingly optimistic as always. It made me want to hug her and punch her at the same time.

I eventually smiled in spite of my cynicism. She always seemed to really believe in the shit she spouted.

"You're a very glass half full kind of girl," I remarked dryly, the phone wedged between my cheek and shoulder as I looked at my pitiful excuse for a bank balance online. I wasn't sure that I would make rent this month if I didn't get another job soon, and that could soon mean I'd have to move back with Charlie and face his death full-on—and tell him the truth of what I'd been up to since he'd been diagnosed. That was one big shit storm I had no desire to be caught in.

I sighed. It was all well and good for Alice Cullen to tell me not to worry about work and money when her bra probably cost more than what I made last month. The Cullens were filthy rich.

"Just trust me. It'll be fine. You'll find work, and it'll be better than before. I _know_ it." She spoke as if this was the most obvious truth in the world, and I wanted to believe her, but I just couldn't. There was a pause on her end before I heard a familiar beeping in the background, the sound of microwave buttons being pressed.

"Are you heating something?" I asked warily. Esme was practically a culinary artist, but Alice… Well, Alice put a fork in the microwave last time; it had run a little slower ever since then, and I was just waiting for it to die. I worried when it was just Charlie and Alice in the kitchen. They might cook the house down.

Alice giggled, and I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry. I checked to make sure this would be okay!"

I relaxed. "Esme's there, then?"

She hesitated for the slightest of moments, making me suspicious. "Sure."

"Okay… Well, just be careful." At least if she was lying about Esme's being there to keep her kitchen catastrophes at bay, I'd versed her on how to properly put out various fires. She'd been amused by my lecturing, but I thought I got through to her.

"I told you. We're fine. Your dad's fine. It's all good, so just take a breather. We've got you covered on this end."

The Cullens were so good to Charlie and me.

I closed my eyes tightly as tears threatened to fall. "Thanks," I said hoarsely. "You know how sorry I am that I can't be there for him. I know he's quite a lot to handle right now. Oh, Jesus, don't—don't tell him I said that. You know what I mean. Just—yeah, I should be there more, I know. So, well, _thank you_ for being there when I can't be." I sucked at expressing myself verbally at the best of times, and there was no way for me to express just how grateful I was for the Cullens or just how sad I was that I couldn't spend more time with Charlie. That was the worst part.

Even if the chemo worked—an unlikely scenario, given the advanced nature of his lung cancer—we wouldn't get much time together. He'd seen some specialists that had given him horrible projections—a week, a month—but I trusted Carlisle when he said we'd get Charlie through November, maybe December. He said Charlie could have longer, much longer, if the chemo worked—a year, maybe. I was still holding out for that, but I had very little hope as my father got weaker and weaker with each passing Sunday that I visited.

"Stop worrying so much, if you can. It'll work out, Bella," Alice said gently, pulling me from my depressed thoughts. It was uncanny how well she seemed to know me sometimes, given that I only knew her from the Sundays we sometimes spent together at Charlie's.

"Okay," I whispered, but I was still giving myself an ulcer. I couldn't help it.

"Now," she said, her voice becoming cheery once more, "I'll tell Charlie that you said hello when he wakes from his nap, but we should get off the phone. You never know who might try to call you."

"No one calls me but bill collectors."

"_Goodbye_, Bella. It'll work out!"

Ending the call, I sighed and lay my head down on my desk. The wood felt cold and hard against my forehead, as unforgiving as the pounding headache I'd had for over a day now. I could probably sleep in this awkward position if I could get my mind to shut up for long enough. I was just that fucking tired. I maybe wasn't working sixty hours a week now, but I was spending a lot of time job hunting and worrying. Too bad the latter didn't pay; I'd made worrying a full-time job.

Just as I felt myself dozing off, golden owl eyes swirling in my head, the desk vibrated beneath me as my cell scooted to life across the worn wood. I picked it up. "Hello," I answered. I sounded drunk, and I wished I was.

"Is that you, Swan?"

My eyes widened as I immediately recognized the accent on the other end. I sat up straight. "Um, yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Judy Sanders here—calling to see if you want to take on your shifts again."

"You want me back after everything I did?" I asked incredulously.

Her words came out coarsely and at a mile a minute. "Look, some things happened after you left the day Hal was here, and I'll just say that Hal is getting his ass handed to him over sexual harassment. _As he should be. _I'm not gonna go into it with you—it isn't my place—but I'll just say I'm not nearly as upset about what you did now. I'm a fucking sadist that way, I know. Anyhow, I need someone in your place and don't have time to train anyone new."

God, how was it possible for someone who was giving you a break to still sound like she was fucking you over? I almost wished I could imitate Judy's Bronxy accent, if only to instill this sort of discomfort in others.

I was perhaps talking her out of giving me my job back, but I _had_ to state the obvious. "I know there are people looking for work, Judy. I'm not the only one taking resumes around Port Angeles. I'm a terrible waitress, as it is. Why on earth would you want _me_ back?"

Judy sighed, and it was the most emotional sound I'd ever heard come out of her that wasn't related to anger or schmoozing customers. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad, Bella?"

My heart skipped a beat. "What?" I asked.

"One of your friends called me yesterday—Angela, I think. Look, I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. You're pretty shit at waiting tables, but you're nice enough, so there haven't ever been many complaints—hardly anymore than usual. But I'm surprised you do as well as you do, what with your dad. Why didn't you just tell me your circumstances? I'm a bitch, I know, but I'm not _completely_ heartless."

"I…" I had no answer. As much as I knew I'd be thanking Angela for this when she got home from her classes later, I was also a little upset. I went to great lengths to separate my work life in Port Angeles from my personal life in Forks. It was the only way I was holding myself together.

Judy continued when I didn't answer. "I know I come off as an asshole sometimes, but believe me…cancer, I get. I also get taking care of a parent. It's a hell of a responsibility, especially for a kid your age." She paused for a moment before adding, "I've been in your shoes. My mother died of breast cancer. She was forty-eight."

I suddenly felt guilty for every mean thing I'd ever thought of Judy, for every time I'd wanted to dump creamed corn on her meaty head. "I'm sorry about your mom," I said softly.

"She was a fucker 'til the end, if you can believe that," she replied with a bitter laugh, and I couldn't help but wonder if her mother was the reason Judy was such a sour woman. I'd probably never know. "Nobody deserves to die that way, though, and if you're caring for your dad and his bills, I get that you aren't at the top of your game and that you really need this job. So we both win if you take your old shifts back. I won't have to train anyone new, and you'll have work."

Overwhelmed by this generous and understanding side of my boss, I only managed a weak "okay," and the conversation ended quickly thereafter, with an agreement that I would be at Hal's in the next hour to step in for another waiter who was getting his braces removed.

Rising from my desk, I still felt exhausted, but I wasn't so afraid or worried now. I'd come full circle when it came to Hal's, but it didn't matter. I would make rent, and I could pay for some of Charlie's medications that the prescription programs he was on didn't cover. It was enough to get by.

_What the fuck? Alice was right._

I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. Then I dug in the very back of my personal drawer until I found the little baggy I kept for moments like these—moments where I was exhausted but needed to get my ass into gear. I popped my last Adderall. I'd be alert and focused in no time, taking on the world like a champ.

I'd only ever had ten of the pills to begin with—all shamefully pilfered from Angela's little brother Isaac, who had ADHD. I'd thought about taking more every time I'd been at the Weber's house, _particularly_ when babysitting her bratty twin brothers, but I decided against it. Addictions were expensive. This was a sometimes thing, for when I was exhausted and needed to keep going.

By the time I made it to Hal's at half past two, I was wide awake and ready to work. I strolled into the restaurant, focused on one task: do my job and do it well. _God, I love speed._

Thankfully, Judy didn't bring up my personal life while at work. In fact, she was really just the same ass-riding bitch I was familiar with. The familiarity was somehow comforting.

I'd been working for two out of my five hours and was beginning to smell like barbeque pork when none other than Edward Masen walked in, a pale hand raking through his messy hair as he came through the door. With bluesy country music playing throughout the restaurant, he looked incredibly out of place.

Performance-enhancing drugs or no, I nearly fucking lost it at the sight of him and just barely saved the large tray of food I was holding.

_Un-fucking-believable._

Edward had my head spinning to the point that I was seriously beginning to wonder what was and wasn't reality. The day I'd met him, I actually had a few moments where I believed he was…_otherworldly_. It wasn't just his godlike beauty that had made me wonder, but the way he had looked at me from across the table with what I remembered to be black eyes; the way his long legs had seemed to blur as he swept himself out of Gary and Ian's kitchen like a man on the run. It was the strangest morning of my life.

But as time had passed, I'd begun to wonder… _Had_ it happened like I was remembering it? After all, I'd lost my job the day before, had a lot to drink that night and very little sleep on top of it. My mind definitely could have been playing tricks on me.

Then there was seeing him at the bookshop Friday, which I'd not been able to explain away as easily. He supposedly lived here, _too_. What were the odds? I didn't think I believed in a god or fate or anything, so I had to ask myself, _was_ it a coincidence that we just kept finding ourselves in the same places at the same times?

All of it was a little strange—the way I'd caught Edward reading the exact same poem I had read, the way he'd stayed at the bookshop longer than was normal and watched me when he thought I wasn't paying any attention. I could have sworn when he caught me, when he _saved_ me from breaking my neck, that he'd been on the other side of the room. And, of course, he'd run away again.

Charlie would tell me to alert people around me of a possible stalker, to call the cops if I felt the least bit unnerved, to fight back if I was held captive and to use the pepper spray (that was in my closet, collecting dust). But the funny thing was…as strange and unlikely as it was seeing Edward again and again, I wasn't afraid. I was _intrigued_. I was drawn in, like one of Charlie's hooked fish.

Passing my laden tray off to another waiter, I strode straight to the front of Hal's. Edward met my gaze as if he'd expected me. His eyes were honey brown this afternoon, neither golden nor black. _Contacts_? A tentative half-smile pulled at his lips.

"Hello again, Bella," he said in that smooth voice that seemed to drip over me like hot oil. Edward was far too handsome for his own good—or my own good, depending on how I looked at it.

I frowned at him, forcing myself to stay focused. How could he possibly think he was going to just show up around me again and not explain himself?

Around us, the air seemed to crackle with energy, with things unsaid, with _baffling appeal_. I felt him all around me—infiltrating my mind until at times he was all I thought about, appearing around me in unlikely places.

I grabbed a menu from a holder and began walking toward a booth. "Follow me," I said. I looked over my shoulder at him. "Or is that what you've already _been_ doing?"

As he folded his lanky body into the booth I'd led him to, I saw his eyes widen in surprise for the briefest of moments before a cool, calm mask descended. "I'm just as surprised to see _you_ here. We keep running into each other, don't we?" he said with a small chuckle.

I didn't buy it.

"Why do you think that is?" I asked as I fumbled with my apron to grab my pad and pen. I dropped the pen in the process, where it proceeded to roll beneath Edward's table. "Sorry," I said, but by the time I bent to grab it, he was holding it out to me.

"Thanks," I murmured, staring at the uncapped pen in confusion. Sometimes he seemed to move so fast… _Or maybe you're just fucking slow._

"You're welcome," he said as he shifted farther to the inside of the booth, as if pulling away from me. He looked at me intently, serenely, but I couldn't help but notice the rigid way he sat, as if he was uncomfortable and preparing to bolt out of the restaurant at any given moment.

I tapped the pen on the little square pad in my left hand. "So you _didn't_ know I worked here? You just _happened_ to come to Hal's? How come I've never seen you here before?"

As if holding back a smile, his lips twitched. "It's called trying something new," he said in an obnoxious tone. "I needed a change. Should I have asked for permission? I didn't know I couldn't visit new restaurants without speaking to you first."

For a moment, I thought he was being an asshole, but then I noticed the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners. He was _teasing_ me—and I was silently thrilled by that, even as I felt my face blossom red.

"Well, now you do," I said with a laugh, teasing him back and beginning to wonder if my feelings really _were_ ridiculous after all. "You have to ask about bookshops, too."

As I looked at the perfect man before me, I had to wonder if I wasn't just dreaming him up entirely. Maybe I'd hit my head. Maybe I was in a coma. After all, hadn't I wondered several times since we met if his sort of make-me-weak-in-the-knees beauty was even _possible_? But if this was all a dream, why the fuck were we in Hal's, of all places, and why did he have clothes on?

_Thinking about this man naked…_I'd been thinking about that a lot, really, much more than was rational, considering I'd only seen him twice before.

"It's just weird that you're here," I blurted out.

Putting his menu down, he leaned his elbows on the table, and then propped his chin up in his right palm. He smiled brilliantly at me, flashing just enough of his shiny white teeth. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing else in the room—in the world—other than us, right then. "I just came for dinner," he said. His voice was smooth and sweet like honey, and I immediately got trapped in it like a fly.

The room was suddenly very warm.

"Now, I'd like you to take my order," he said slowly.

"Okay," I heard myself say. I blinked. I felt…hazy, a little drunk.

How shallow. I was literally charmed by his good looks. _Whatever happened to the whole "don't just a book by its cover" spiel?_

"I'll have…water and a sixteen-ounce T-Bone—perhaps?" Edward said, interrupting my straying thoughts.

I shook my head a little, forcing myself out of my stupor. "Um, yeah, okay. How do you want the steak cooked?"

He seemed to grimace slightly. "How rare can you go?"

I laughed. "Well, I can't bring you the cow, if that's what you're hoping for."

"That's too bad, really."

_Typical man. _"We'll do blue rare, though. That's nice and bloody," I said sarcastically. "It's still cool in the middle."

He frowned. "What about rare?"

"It's warm in the middle. Still basically mooing, though."

I watched as he swallowed hard. "All right. I'll have that, then."

"And for sides?"

"Surprise me," he mumbled.

* * *

As I made my way over to Edward's table, red blood swirled around the dinner plate I held, mixing in with the mashed potatoes and salad in a culinary kaleidoscope of color.

"Here you go," I said as I very gingerly put his plate beside the water I'd brought earlier. I was being careful tonight, hoping against hope that I'd never spill anything again. Judy had already banned me from handling the coffeepot. The last thing I needed to do was pour anything else on unsuspecting crotches.

_Stop thinking about his crotch._

When I finally looked at Edward, I saw he was leaning awkwardly to one side of his booth—this time toward the outside—his arms folded tightly across his chest, hands buried beneath armpits. He looked distraught. "Are you okay?" I asked hesitantly.

He nodded his head toward the window beside the booth, where bright orange light from was streaming through the glass. Sunset was sometimes the _only_ time you saw good sunlight in Forks and Port Angeles. "The afternoon sun's getting to me, actually. Migraines. May I be re-seated?"

"Of course." I took his plate again and led him to one of the more centrally-placed tables, far out of the sun's rays. "That better?" I asked once he was situated.

He smiled gratefully. "Yes. This is perfect." He then scowled at his dinner plate; I wasn't sure why, as it looked fine to me, though I'd never eat meat that rare.

I watched him for a moment, thinking. He did seem like a very strange man, and I maybe didn't believe his story of just randomly coming to Hal's, but I still wasn't afraid of him—not yet, at least. Strange or not, he just didn't seem the stalking type, especially as he glared daggers at his salad. He was a _pianist_, for crying out loud. Composers didn't go around pulling women into dark alleys to kill them!

I heard Charlie grumping in my head. _It's always the ones you least expect._ And that was true enough, I guessed, thinking of Tyler Crowley.

But I wasn't afraid of Edward, not even when two hours passed and he was still there. In fact, the longer I felt his presence in the restaurant, the more I wanted to get to know him. I just didn't know how to approach that desire and make it into a reality. Then I scoffed. As if I had time or money for a personal life.

I felt his eyes on me, occasionally caught him staring, just as I had in the bookstore. His gaze made me so giddy and self-conscious that it took all my Adderall-enhanced focus to keep from tripping all over myself, but it was a welcome change to the tired march I usually forced myself into. I felt _alive_ under his stare.

Edward hardly drank or ate anything, but as my shift drew to an end at a quarter past seven, he smilingly requested the check and a "to go" box. I saved his table for the last one I'd deal with of the day, just in hopes of having a few extra minutes with him.

"Was the food not okay?" I asked as I helped him shovel cold, drying chunks of potatoes into the Styrofoam container. I frowned at the bloody, hardly-touched steak. "I'm not sure how well something this rare will keep…" Judy would have my ass if we got sued, because I let someone walk out of here with spoiled food.

"The food was fine," Edward said, and I knew by his tone that he was lying. "And it will be fine, I'm sure. I'm just taking what's left to Lucky."

I smiled in relief as I remembered the yellow, scraggly dog that Edward had so affectionately petted in the backyard of The Rosebud. At least _someone_ would enjoy the food.

Edward watched me closely as I next moved the steak into the container. I was blushing like crazy, my hands shaking, the hairs on my arms raised in anxious alarm.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked quietly. I barely heard him at all over the loud hum of dinnertime conversation. I was very glad that I'd miss most of that tonight.

"You do a bit," I admitted with a shaky laugh. The Styrofoam squeaked noisily as I closed the box.

"I'm honestly not trying to, if you can believe that."

And I did believe it.

I realized my scar was showing and looked away to move a loose curl over it. "You're just very strange," I replied, and I was grinning. There were worse things to be.

He frowned. "You don't know the half of it."

"Why don't you tell me, then?" My voice came out small and shy, a bare whisper, but somehow he heard me.

His frown gave way to a very hesitant, soft smile. "I'm not sure how much I would talk about myself, but I would love to see you again and get to know you."

_Oh my God, is he asking me out? No, no, can't be…_

He smirked. "Besides, if we don't, I'm sure we'll just keep bumping into each other like this."

I took a steadying breath and arched a brow. "Seems like we might."

"Friday, then," he said, rubbing at his stubbly jaw and neck with a hand.

"Oh." I sighed. "I wasn't working my usual shift at the bookstore last Friday. I actually don't get off until nine that night."

"Are you opposed to late nights?"

_Not with you._ "I don't sleep much," I answered with what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"Neither do I," he said. He grinned devilishly, and my heart spluttered and stuttered. "So shall I pick you up at Books & News for a _late _dinner and movie on Friday, then?"

_Definitely a date!_

I nodded and bit at my lip, more than a little speechless. No one had asked me out since Jacob and I had broken up; there had been the occasional awkward flirting, but that was as far as anything had gone. To have this flawless specimen of the human species ask me out was almost overwhelming.

We awkwardly exchanged cell numbers, and then with his bill paid—and me tipped much more than was normal, though I wasn't about to complain—Edward rose from the table. As near as he was to where I stood by the table, he towered above me. We were very close, and he seemed to realize it, too. I watched his nostrils slightly flare as he pulled in a deep breath. "Shall I walk you to your car?" he asked. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

I looked at him in surprise. "_Hey_, how do you know I'm off work?" I asked accusingly.

He laughed, and a whisper of his somehow intoxicatingly sweet scent washed over me. "You've removed your work apron. I just assumed…"

I blushed and looked away. "Oh." _God, Charlie's made me paranoid, too, it seems._

Edward just shook his head, grabbed his leftovers, and with his hand on the small of my back, led me outside. I noticed that he stopped briefly at the entranceway, grabbing one of the free real estate circulars that were kept in a wire basket; he folded it in half and stuffed it in a back pocket of his jeans.

For a moment, we were heading directly toward my Honda, but then Edward stopped abruptly and asked, "Where's your car?"

"It's just over there," I said, pointing out the gray vehicle with the worn "make love, not war" bumper sticker. I'd never been able to remove it when I'd bought the car via Craigslist.

Turning out to be quite the old-school gentleman, Edward opened my car door. Once I was seated, he leaned over the door, arms folded along the roof of the car. "Friday, nine on the dot."

I nodded.

He smiled gently, his eyes light and tawny—age old owl eyes in the half-light of evening—and I watched as a breeze tossed his red-brown hair. Even in the strange lighting afforded by parking lot streetlamps, he was heart achingly handsome.

"Have a good night, Bella," he said in a whisper.

"You, too, Edward."

He closed my door, and with one sigh, the bubble he'd created burst, and the fantasy fell away. I was thrust back to my reality.

But now I had Friday to look forward to.

* * *

By Friday, I was ready to fucking explode from all the anticipation. Sitting on a stool in front of the mirror of our tiny bathroom for an hour was really beginning to grate my nerves, too. My leg hopped up and down of its own accord.

"This is stupid," I grumbled to Angela as she straightened another lock of my hair. "I have a seven-hour shift. I'm going to look like crap by nine, no matter what voodoo you're working back there."

Angela shook her head at me. "Don't be so negative."

"Maybe it's more that everyone around me is so damn positive?" I argued.

Her lips twitched with an oncoming grin. "Be good, I'm the one with the hot iron here."

I worried at my lip for a moment while we were both silent. "Ang, do you think it's okay for me to go out tonight?"

"What do you mean?" She looked at me in the mirror, the flat iron held away from me for the moment. "You aren't worried about Edward, are you? He's not creepy or anything, right?"

"No, no, it's not that." At least I hoped not. "I mean…_is it okay_? Going out at all. I mean, Charlie's so sick, and I'm working about fifty-five hours a week… I should really focus on—"

"Stop it. You're not getting _engaged_ tonight, Bella. It's one innocent date."

I blushed slightly. "I know that, but I just feel like I'm not being responsible."

Placing the flat iron on the vanity, Angela picked up a comb and began running it through my hair. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of the comb teeth as they grazed along my scalp. "You worry too much about taking care of other people sometimes," Angela said gently. "Sometimes you need to take care of _you_. That doesn't make you selfish, either." Though she didn't say that I needed to do that because Charlie would be dead soon, I knew that was an unspoken thought. _You can't live for others._ A number of people had told me that.

The thing was, I wasn't all that sure of how to live for myself. It's surprisingly easy to forget when you haven't done it in a long time.

"There. Done!" I watched Angela's smile in the mirror as she stepped back to examine my hair. She held a hand mirror up to the back for me to see what she had done. She'd left most of it down, but gathered a small section in a little bun that I'd never have been able to do myself.

It looked good, even if the rest of me was plain. "Thanks, Ang," I said as I pulled one wisp free to cover my unsightly scar.

* * *

Work at Books & News dragged ass until 8:57 p.m., when the door opened, letting in a chilly breeze and one mildly-disheveled Edward. With his hair blown slightly back, it looked like he'd recently been running against the wind. I was frozen where I stood as I smiled at him.

He came to stand on the other side of the register, several feet between us. He breathed deeply, swallowed and let out a sigh. His eyes were dark. "Ready, Ms. Swan?"

I rolled my eyes. "I believe so, Mr. Masen." I called out a farewell to my boss Samantha and joined Edward by the front door.

"How does Bella Italia sound?" Edward asked with a smirk as we exited the bookstore.

I smirked back. "It _sounds_ closed at nine."

His face fell. "You're joking."

I shook my head with a laugh. "Nope."

"What's open then?"

"Don't you know? This is your town, too," I teased. Part of me still wondered if he really was from Port Angeles. But what reason could he have for lying?

"I cook at home."

Of course he fucking cooked! Maybe that's why he was disappointed in Hal's food. He could do better. _God._ _A gorgeous, musical chef…every girl's wet dream._ I imagined Edward in a kitchen, one of his highly-acclaimed pieces playing on a stereo, a "kiss the cook" apron hanging from his neck as he handled cucumbers, carrots and several other phallic symbols. "There's a McDonald's down the road," I answered finally.

Edward scowled as we got into his ridiculously ostentatious car. I noticed with some amusement a dirty paw print on my seat.

As it turned out, he had somehow never eaten at McDonald's, as proven by the way the heavy, greasy scent in the restaurant _really_ annoyed him from the second we stepped inside, when a hilarious, strangled gagging sound erupted from his throat. I wasn't sure how a child of the eighties could possibly avoid having eaten here at least once, but I sort of envied him that as I chewed my suspect meat patty and over-sweetened bread. Edward refused to buy anything for himself and unsuccessfully tried to talk me out of what I was eating. We kept the conversation light, and I ate quickly, so we'd make a ten o'clock showing.

The cinema was just a short drive from McDonald's. It was old-timey, with a yellowed marquee at its front. Edward asked me as we strolled toward the ticket booth, "What would you like to see? I've heard good things about _Burn After Reading_."

As I looked to see what was playing, I realized just how long it had been since I'd been to the movies. I didn't even have a clue what was playing, really.

"Oh! Let's see _The Last Descent_. If you want…" At his lifted brow, I explained with a grin, "I _think_ that one's a zombie movie."

He shook his head and smirked. "You don't strike me as the type, but I'm fine with seeing that."

"Oh? And what do you think my type should be?" _Reel it in_, I thought. I was horrible at flirting.

"Anything but horror," he said with a small, hollow laugh as he bought our tickets. "I can't say I understand the _desire_ to be afraid, though many seem to be rather fond of it."

For a Friday night, the theater was glaringly empty. _Thank fuck it's zombies and not some chick flick we're watching._ I didn't think I could handle seeing sex scenes with Edward beside me, not when we were all alone.

And then my mind was on sex. _Good job, Bella._

Sometimes it seemed like life would've been much easier if I'd never given my virginity to Jacob. For one, I wouldn't really know what I was missing out on. I sighed, keenly aware of how Edward's leg would be touching mine if he'd lean _juuust_ a bit closer.

"Film is not what it used to be," Edward opined with a frown a moment later, completely oblivious to the fact that I was doing all sorts of naughty things to him in my head. I hummed in agreement, because I'd actually not paid any attention to what was being previewed.

Edward rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a long finger. "But then, I suppose sex sells better than anything else sometimes."

_Is it conservative or progressive of him that he's discussing sex in the media?_

Well, we could have had a good, intellectual discussion about it at that moment, but my brain was fairly stuck on his use of the word "sex." _Say it again, Mr. Piano Man. Say it again._

But he didn't, and the movie started, and after the first time of jumping at the sight of a fast-running zombie, my body stopped feeling like it was burning in a lust-induced fire. It started up again, though, when Edward rested his arm along the back of my seat. Seeing a zombie randomly vomit in a warehouse corner took care of that, though.

As far as zombie movies went, _The Last Descent_ could have been a lot worse. It started out typically enough; a virus had turned humans into zombies, and the United States—it was _always_ the United States, of course—had been declared a disaster area. People were evacuating land areas, going by boat and helicopter to the few islands that remained uninfected. The worst of the outbreak was in the deep south, where the survivors were fighting their own way to safety. With the outbreak being so bad in the area, no one was coming to help survivors evacuate; they were on their own. I thought it might all be a metaphor for what happened during Hurricane Katrina, but I didn't want to give a zombie movie _too _much credit.

The survivors the movie focused on made their way to a series of boathouses, in hopes of escaping. When they arrived at the first boathouse, they found it empty and planned to run on to the next one. Unfortunately, one of the two remaining survivors, the male lead, Ellis, hurt his ankle badly; only one of them would make it to the next boathouse fast enough. Rather than try to survive without him, Ellis' girlfriend, Rochelle, the other survivor, stayed with him to the end.

It had a depressing ending. The screen faded out on a huddled up Ellis and Rochelle as they hid in the boathouse, waiting for their inevitable demise. Zombie growls echoed at the start of the credits.

"I'm sorry. That was an _awful_ film," Edward said as we exited the cinema.

I shrugged. "I didn't mind it," I said. "The dialogue could have been better, but I liked the ending."

He looked at me incredulously "How could you _possibly_ like the ending? That was the worst part."

"I liked that they stayed together, no matter what."

"It was selfish of Ellis," Edward argued.

"Selfish? He was injured!"

"He should have insisted Rochelle go on."

I rolled my eyes at him. "That's silly. Even if she did go on, there might not be another boat, and then she'd just die alone." _And no one wants to die alone._

"_Or_ there might be help at the next boathouse—other survivors—that she'd be able to return with to save Ellis. Maybe _no one_ would have died."

I snorted. "Or maybe _everyone_ would have. Anyway, _I_ think it's _nice_ that they were together." I grinned. "It's gotta be real love, if you're willing to die in the zombie apocalypse together."

"Their actions seem absurd to me."

I rolled my eyes at him again, resisting the deep-set urge to stick out my tongue. "You're impossible." I bumped my hip against the side of his thigh. He muscle was hard like concrete, or maybe I was just tired and dreaming it. "Anyway, don't steal my thunder. I liked it." In fact, it was possible I liked the movie even more, now that I knew he didn't. That was definitely a streak of Charlie's stubbornness, if there ever was one.

We turned a corner, and I realized for the first time since we'd exited the theater that we hadn't gone directly to Edward's car. The new block wasn't as well lit as the last one, but as Edward walked beside me, I knew I was completely safe. I sighed, content. It felt so oddly wonderful to be able to relax, even if it was just for tonight.

"I don't mind zombies, really," I said in passing as we continued to walk.

Edward looked down at me a moment later, clearly frustrated that I'd not elaborated. "And?" he prompted.

"Well, I just don't think they're as bad as we make them in horror movies. They kind of get a bad rap, like aliens do."

"They eat _brains and flesh_, Bella," Edward said in a deadpan voice.

"Sure, sure," I relented, "but they're just doing what their nature tells them to do."

Edward stopped beneath a streetlamp and turned to me. Looking down at me as he was, with the light shining bright and harsh above him, he appeared ghostly. Dark circles beneath his eyes were matched by the shadows cast by the bone beneath his brow until even the whites of his eyes were just green-gray in the shadow. "So what you're saying is that you can't really blame _monsters_ for their behavior? Just forgive them for their nature, is that it?"

"Pretty much." I shrugged.

"You can't possibly see it that way. That's disgusting," he hissed. He raked both of his hands through his hair, pulling at it with clutching fingers.

_Jesus, he's taking this seriously._ "Calm down," I said, laughing softly. I couldn't believe he was going over the deep-end over some B-grade zombie movie. "It's just a movie. You didn't even like it."

But he didn't let the matter go, and as he spoke, I had an unexpected glimpse of a vulnerable man, a broken one. He glared at me. "Is that really what you think? That it's _all right_, simply because there's a fucking excuse? Is that what you think of rapists who walk around at night and take girls _just like you_? They're mentally ill, so it's all right; they're drunk, so they can't help it; they're angry, so let them? Christ!"

I could have argued with him, could have told him to stop putting words in my mouth, but my heart ached too much to see him this way. He was really upset, almost panicked seeming. I wanted to reach for him, but it didn't seem wise for the moment. I didn't even fully understand what was happening. "Edward…" I pleaded.

But he didn't stop. His whole body was stock still as his voice shook with a rage that seemed to be eating at his belly, only to go up through his chest and loose itself from his lips.

"And then there are _murderers_, Isabella," he continued. "_Bloodthirsty_ killers who ruin lives and families, who take children from their parents, mothers from their children. Men who kill their wives, women who slaughter their newborns… You have _no_ idea of the world you live in—how unjust it can be."

I swallowed hard, holding back tears—unsure of whether I was crying for him or me or just life in general. "I probably understand better than you think I do."

"There are more monsters in this world than you can imagine," Edward said brokenly. "Some you've not even _begun_ to imagine." His whole body slumped forward a little then, the weight of his words pressing in on him in some way was beyond my understanding.

I had the feeling that neither of us understood the other.

We both had secrets, it seemed.

"Edwa—"

"You're shivering," he interrupted, immediately removing his jacket. He shoved it toward me awkwardly, keeping some distance between us.

I slipped on the oversized jean jacket. It was just as cool as the airy night breeze around. "Jeez, could've warmed it up for me," I said with a watery grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn't laugh. "I have a medical condition," he said, and my heart skipped a beat at the words. "It causes circulatory problems."

"You should be wearing this, then." I started to shrug back out of the material. _Why couldn't I just have my old barn jacket?_ It'd gone missing this past Monday.

He shook his head, frowning. "Keep it on, Bella. Don't be stubborn, please."

The walk back to his car was awkward and silent, and the drive to my home—necessary, since Angela had dropped me off at work today—was tense. I huddled into the corner of the passenger's side, wrapping myself up in Edward's jacket as cold air blew through his open driver's side window. I'd normally ask him to close it, but the fresh air seemed to calm him a little.

How had such a good night taken a turn like this?

When we arrived at my house, he walked me to my door and gave me a sad, lopsided smile. "I enjoyed tonight, Bella." He sounded defeated, as if he'd lost some important battle—with what or whom, I didn't know.

Again, I wanted to reach for him.

Again, I didn't.

"I enjoyed it, too," I said. _Mostly, I did._

His head tilted as he looked at me beneath the porch floodlight. "You looked lovely tonight."

I didn't, really, but I forced a smile to my face.

Without saying goodbye, he turned and walked back to his car. There were no kisses goodnight, and with a pain in my chest, I wondered if I'd ever see Edward Masen again.

* * *

**_Author's Notes (August 18, 2010):_**_ For the one or two of you who play video games (come out of the closet already!), you may recognize my geeky hat tip to the first person shooter "Left 4 Dead 2." If you play the PC version on Steam, PM me your username, and we'll massacre some zombies together._

_Special thanks to **duskwatcher2153** and **Aleeab4u** for all their help. I was so nervous about this chapter, and they both helped me improve it, while also encouraging me!_

**_Author's Notes (January 25, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	8. Cellular Breakdown

**_Chapter pic:_**_ None this time, sorry! _

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm08-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 08: CELLULAR BREAKDOWN**

* * *

_"If only we were wiser or better people, _  
_perhaps the gods would explain the mad, unbearable things they do." _

_From "Children of the Mind" by Orson Scott Card_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
Despite the sadness I'd felt over my botched date with Edward, I slept deeply and dreamlessly, waking a little after nine the next morning. Stretching under my covers, I reveled in the feeling of having true rest. I didn't know what was going on with me, but I'd been sleeping better all week.

After a quick shower, I decided I wanted to see Charlie and spend the weekend with him, but I couldn't do that if I went into work at eleven. A Saturday at Hal's was really good money that I—_we_—definitely needed, but it was also a day away from my father, who had looked somehow even weaker last Sunday. After three months of small stages of chemotherapy, I'd convinced myself that he would start to look stronger, but he'd only continued to deteriorate on the whole.

Each moment with him was precious. It had always been that way. The only difference was that I was wise enough to know that now.

Surprisingly, Judy was true to her word that she'd be understanding, telling me that it would be no trouble to get someone to take over my shift, even though I was giving her really short notice. I thought she might have even told me to "take care" at the end of the conversation, but I was sure I was just hearing things.

I packed a backpack with jeans, pajamas and a couple of sweaters. I still had Edward's jacket to keep me warm, but I didn't want to get the third degree from retired Chief Swan, if at all possible; showing up in _some boy's_ clothing was a surefire way to walk right into that. I stuffed barely-used rubber boots on top of everything else. I'd go fishing with Charlie this weekend. _And I won't complain one time about how fucking boring it is._ At least it'd give me time in his presence.

Lauren was in the living room when I went downstairs. Seated on the floor, she was bent over a large piece of poster paper, color markers and tubes of glitter strewn on the carpet around her.

"Going to another protest?" I asked while adjusting one of my backpack straps. Protests, rallies and political meet-ups were often how Lauren spent a Saturday during the warmer parts of the year.

She finished coloring in a bubble letter before looking up at me. "Yeah, definitely. Going up to Seattle about the layoffs. I still can't believe the Seattle Police Department is looking at laying off a quarter of the force. I don't know how the hell they expect to find a serial killer if they haven't got enough people to even answer domestic abuse calls."

"Serial killer? Really?"

"Jesus, Bella, don't you pay attention? People are _disappearing left and right_. Give a shit."

I rolled my eyes. As if I'd had time to pay attention. I sighed and sat on the arm of our battered old couch. "Just catch me up on it a bit." Even when I wasn't insanely busy, I never kept up with local news and politics the way Lauren did. It was a flaw of mine, to feel so connected to those I knew and loved and so indifferent to those I didn't. _Have I always been that way?_ I wasn't sure.

"There have just been all these disappearances in the last few months. At first, no one thought they were related, but now people are wondering if it's gangs or a serial killer…"

"How many people have gone missing?" I asked.

"Twelve was the last number I heard," she said. "It doesn't sound like a lot, but most of the time people show up eventually. That's more like how many people actually go missing in a _year_ in Seattle. And most of the time it's kids, not adults."

I got chills just thinking about it. Maybe Charlie had been right about Seattle. I still wasn't going to lug around pepper spray all the time, though.

Lauren frowned as she drew another letter on her poster. "It's _really_ strange. Other than the fact that they're all adults, there aren't any patterns to any of it. Like, people are disappearing from all economic backgrounds and histories, so it doesn't really _seem_ like a serial killer or gangs, but no one knows for sure."

"And they won't find out with a force that's spread too thin."

"Exactly." She looked up at me again, her green eyes vibrant. "I just think it's crazy they're talking of layoffs at a time like this. I mean, I know states are tightening their belts and shit, but this is serious. We're hoping they'll listen to us."

Her tenacity made me smile. "I'm sure you'll do everything you can to make them."

"Damn straight." She noticed the backpack hanging from my shoulder then. "Going somewhere?" She glanced at a clock we had hanging on the wall. "And shouldn't you be at work?"

I shrugged. "I called in… Decided I'd spend the weekend with Charlie."

"That'll be good. You haven't done that in a while." She looked at me slyly. "So, not seeing anymore of Edward Masen, pianist extraordinaire, then?"

I blushed. _Thanks, Lauren._ I was trying really hard not to think about him. "Mm, I don't think so," I answered. "Our date could have ended better."

"Oh well." She sniffed. "It's not like you need a man, anyway."

I thought of Edward's changing eyes—the gold, the black—and wondered once again if he even was _just_ a man, but then I laughed inwardly. _Maybe I _didn't_ get enough sleep. _"Yeah, you're right," I said. I really didn't need any more complications in my life, anyway—at least, that was what I was telling myself. It was better to think that, than to feel like I'd ruined the only date I'd had in years.

* * *

Even though Port Angeles was just an hour's drive from Forks, the weather could be quite different. Where Port Angeles had been characteristically overcast when I left it, Forks was dark and steadily raining, a town of slick mud and overflowing gutters. Its darkness reflected my mood in a lot of ways. Away from Forks, I kept up my guard and trudged on doggedly. I felt at least somewhat strong. Here? Here, I was just a kid again, unsure and afraid.

I could barely see through torrential rains as I pulled into Charlie's brick driveway. I parked behind the faded turquoise pickup truck he'd purchased after retiring and losing the police cruiser. The right side of the truck was parked on the lawn, tires sunk deeply into mud. He hadn't driven in a while; he was too sick to.

I turned off the ignition and sat for a moment, taking in deep, calming breaths. I always tried to prepare myself before going inside.

_Charlie may look worse, but he's going to get better._

_Charlie doesn't need you to do everything for him. Don't hover. He hates that._

_Smile. Act happy. Create a positive environment._

_Tell him you love him at least once while you're here._

As I continued my mantra, I looked over the house, which in the last year had begun to look a lot worse for wear. Charlie's house was plain and simple on the outside—a lot like us Swans, really. It had white siding, an untended garden of mulish weeds and a porch with two rotting banisters—a consequence of age and perpetual humidity. I'd recently noticed a few of the wooden slats on the porch were beginning to abnormally darken, too—a sign of the rot to come. No amount of water resistant coating could protect them in this sort of climate; it was difficult enough to find a dry day to even put a water resistor on the wood.

The inside of the house was like us, too. At first glance, it had no story to tell with its two upstairs bedrooms and single bathroom, the latter of which Charlie and I had somehow managed to share through my last two years of high school without too much embarrassment. (I tried not to remember the empty tampon box incident.) It was only when you looked deeper at the furnishings and decorations inside that you began to see a sad, if not uncommon story.

My parents married young, and I was their mistake, a wrench in what were probably youthful and idealistic life plans. Dreams of gratifying work, luxurious homes and fast cars tend to fall to the wayside when you're nineteen and have a seven-pound bun in the oven. Renée resented marriage, and by way of that, my father Charlie and rainy Forks. She divorced him and dragged me with her to California when I was just six months old. I wasn't sure I'd ever understand why she took me; she loved me, sure, but she'd never been cut out for motherhood.

After we'd moved, I'd only seen my father one month out of the year—every July—until I went to live with him in 2005. We'd been near strangers and mostly stayed that way until my last year of high school.

From the Vegas wedding picture on the mantel of the fireplace, to the sunny yellow paint in the kitchen that was my mother's favorite color, nearly all the decorations in this house told of my parents' fucked up marriage. Charlie was a constant man, and he'd never stopped loving Renée, no matter how many times she'd bitched at him on the phone in one of her more childish fits or complained that he'd not sent child support, simply because she hadn't checked the mail yet to see that the money was there. It always was. Charlie had never been late on that.

The older I got, the more I felt my father had gotten the real short end of the stick. He'd paid for me, though he hardly ever got to see me (and when he did, I was a complete brat). He unconditionally loved a woman who didn't give a damn about much beyond what had her attention for the week. And what had happened? Renée had gone on and gotten most of what she'd wanted, even found someone else to marry. Charlie? He was here, like he always was, alone in a house full of bittersweet memories, battling cancer.

Life was not fair.

Earlier in the year, I'd thought that he was maybe going to get his second chance at a happy relationship, that maybe it was only a matter of time before the kitchen was repainted and my old room turned into a proper guest bedroom. The first sign of a change had been the day I came home and found my parents' old wedding picture gone from the mantel.

He'd been dating Sue Clearwater, a sweet and quiet woman who liked to cook—all good traits in a partner for Charlie. She was the widow of Harry Clearwater, a Quileute man who'd been one of my father's closest friends before he passed away from a heart attack a couple of years ago. Sue and Charlie both had wounds they needed to heal from, but they were good match, and I'd believed it would be a lasting one, that they'd heal each other.

Unfortunately, everything changed when Charlie was diagnosed. Sue couldn't watch another man she loved die while she stayed behind. Even if I understood her reasoning logically, I hated her for leaving my father. She'd seemed so constant, but then she'd left, too, just like Renée. She called Charlie sometimes—more often, she called me to ask after him—but she never came to visit.

A month ago, the Vegas wedding photo made a reappearance.

At the door to the house, I hesitated. Even though this was still technically my home, too, it didn't feel like it. As I'd gotten older, I'd begun wondering if I'd ever really had a place I considered home. I'd thought it was Phoenix, because that had been what I'd known best; and then when I'd had Jake, I'd thought it was Forks. But experience had taught me that homes were never really places, but the people in them. I'd yet to live in a place where sadness or rejection hadn't ultimately struck like a nasty bolt of lightning.

_Now Dad's leaving me._ I felt the flood of tears hover at the edge of my eyes and bit at my lip to keep them from surfacing. _No tears_, I told myself.

I knocked on the door before entering with the key that was on my keychain. Not bothering to untie my laces, I nudged off my shoes and called out. "Hey, Dad! Thought I'd drop by today! Staying for the weekend!" I kept my tone light and cheery—stress-free, because Charlie Swan, like all loving fathers, wanted his college-going daughter to be happy.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie replied from his recliner in the connecting living room. His voice was quiet and raspy, and he sounded so _tired_.

I padded into the room and forced myself to keep a smile on my face. My father was dying from cancer—and the treatment for it—and it fucking showed from his hairless upper lip and the beanie cap on his bald head, to the way his recliner swallowed up his bag-of-bones body. He didn't look anything like he used to, and the changes always hit me like a punch to my gut.

He'd never been a towering, hulking man, but he'd been strong in his own right. Now that he was weak, I missed his strength. I'd never realized how much I needed my father, until I became supremely aware that, be it sooner or later, I was going to lose him. _Forever_.

It drove me crazy. How did people _do_ this? How did people lose their parents and go on? When I was a kid, it'd felt like Charlie would always be there, even a lot of times when I didn't _want_ him to be.

Now everything had come down to borrowed time.

"Glad you're gonna spend some time with your old man," Charlie said with an awkward smile. "Been, uh—been missing you around here, Bells."

I swallowed thickly as I walked over and hugged him as gently as I could. He was tired, and so he didn't lift his arms around me, but he pressed his cheek into my hair, so that his uneven breathing was right against my ear.

Charlie and I had never been good at sharing our emotions with each other, but we'd gotten better over time; and since he'd gotten ill, we'd doubled our efforts. I pulled away and took in a calming breath. "I've missed you, too," I said with a weary smile. "I'm sorry I've not been around as much. It's just been really busy at school, and with my part-time job…"

"Hey, don't you worry. You're here now. That's what matters. Besides, I hardly get a moment to myself with those Cullen women coming 'round all the time."

I grinned at him, knowing well that while his pride might have taken a hit in the process of having the Cullens help him, he also loved the attention from pretty women—and the Cullen women were nothing if not movie-star beautiful. "I don't think you mind too much when Esme's here, Dad."

He snorted a little, and I watched as a hint of pink colored his cheeks. "Well."

I laughed and shook my head at him. "I'll be right back, okay?" I ran upstairs to the small bathroom and washed my hands, scrubbing all the way up to my elbows until my skin was red and raw. I washed my hands a lot whenever I was at Charlie's. Chemo treatments had weakened his immune system, and a single, simple virus could easily turn to pneumonia and kill him. I compulsively washed everything around him.

I returned to the living room with another plastered smile. "So," I started conversationally, while plopping down onto the old couch adjacent to Charlie's recliner, "I thought we could take it easy today, but I'll make us dinner tonight, okay? And tomorrow, I thought we could maybe go fishing." _Smile, Bella, smile. Fucking smile._

Charlie looked over at me in amused skepticism. "You hate fishing."

"Not the company, though," I said honestly.

He snorted. "Yeah, well, we'll see, kid." He went back to flipping channels, pausing every now and again on some show with hunting or machines or police chases. He used to watch sports all the time, but he'd stopped recently for reasons known only to him. I was too afraid to ask why, afraid that his reasoning might be sad. I couldn't take anymore sadness.

I sat with him in companionable silence. We took turns with the remote, more often than not just to channel surf; there was never anything good on television on a Saturday. The day dwindled and turned to afternoon, and eventually the rain lightened to an irregular sprinkle. A blue and purple-grey sky opened up just for sunset, and light poured in through the front windows.

Seeing the afternoon light reminded me of how Edward had pulled away from the sun in Hal's last week. When I'd casually asked about it on our date, he'd said he avoided sunlight due to a "skin condition." He had poor circulation, too, and I wondered what his ailments could be related to; it was hard for me to imagine Edward being sick, when he was so healthy looking.

_Not that you can tell anything from that._

_What if he _is_ sick?_

_What if he's dying, too?_

I took a deep breath. _Get a grip. Don't be ridiculous._

Thinking of Edward of course led me to analyze our date again, which I'd been doing all day long, in spite of myself. His anger at the end of our date still seemed strange. When I thought about what he said, though—that I couldn't begin to imagine the monsters that existed in the world—I couldn't help but feel like he'd seen some awful things in his life. He seemed to know a lot about the darkness in the world, and I felt sorry for him.

Sighing, I shook my head. _He's not your problem. He's done with you._

I needed a distraction, and television just wasn't cutting it for me.

"I'll start on dinner," I said and rose from the couch. I touched my father's shoulder as I passed his recliner. "Do you need anything?"

"Just a beer."

I frowned. "Carlisle said that can interfere with the drugs you're taking."

"Not with the new stuff they've put me on," he answered, his eyes darting away from mine. Liar, liar. "I can have a drink every now and then—_Carlisle said_."

Well, in our house, what Dr. Carlisle Cullen said was treated like gospel. He was the only doctor I'd ever met who could deliver horrible news in a way that still left you with either a sliver of hope or at least acceptance. We trusted him implicitly.

"Okay, Dad…" I narrowed my eyes at him. "But just one."

_And I'm definitely checking with Carlisle to see if you're fibbing._

I entered the kitchen and was immediately hit by the scent of old fish. _Fucking disgusting._ My stomach roiled as I switched to breathing through my mouth. I grabbed a can of beer from the fridge and a napkin and gave them to Charlie before tackling the health hazard that seemed to be located under our sink.

It was the garbage that smelled so strongly. It was overflowing, which never happened when Alice and Esme were around. _It used to not happen when it was just Charlie._ Little things like this told me how sick my father really was; he'd never been one for spotless perfection, but he'd never been _unclean_, either. Not Chief Swan. He'd kept things in order, and when he couldn't, now the Cullens did.

"Have Alice and Esme not been around much lately, Dad?" I called out while pulling the garbage bag from the bin. The smell was god-awful, and I was surprised I hadn't smelled it earlier, before I realized I hadn't been in the kitchen since arriving..

_Did Charlie even eat lunch?_ I wondered, but then I remembered I hadn't eaten at all today, either. I sighed.

"Alice was here Wednesday," Charlie said from the other room, "but I've let Esme and her off the hook a bit this week."

On the way to the front door, I lugged the garbage into the living room with me. Charlie waved a hand in front of his nose as we grimaced together, but for very different reasons. "Dammit, Dad, is Billy giving you shit over the Cullens again?" There were few people in this world that could piss me off more than Billy and his son Jacob.

"Well," Charlie said a little quietly as he scratched around the port catheter at his chest, "he might've called a time or two."

"I don't know why you give him the time of day," I complained. "You aren't even friends with him anymore."

"I know that, but this isn't about me. I don't need Esme and them looking after me all the time, you know"—the rotting fish in the trash begged to differ—"and I don't want the rez giving the Cullens any trouble. They do that enough as it is."

"_Fine_," I said tersely and turned on my heel with the garbage. "I'm just taking this to the curb." Huffing, I stuffed my feet back into my sneakers, yanked the front door open and half-stumbled down the porch steps to the corner of the driveway, where the garbage pickup bins were.

_Fuck you, Billy. I hope you rot in your stupid wheelchair._

I had no idea what had happened between the Cullens and the people on the reservation—and I didn't really give a shit—but the Quileutes _hated_ the Cullens—like, deep, this-is-the-fifties-and-we're-racist-bigots kind of hate. Billy had called Charlie frequently when he found out that Carlisle was treating him and that Alice and Esme were visiting almost daily.

Billy was all concerned when he called, talking about how he was looking out for Charlie and me and _blah, fucking blah_. Frankly, I didn't care what his reasoning was. He could just stay the fuck away and keep out of our business. We didn't need him.

The Cullens were around for my dad. The Quileutes weren't, and it pissed me off to no end that they continued to meddle. If it kept on, I was going to have to call Billy to set things straight.

_Again._

I took a deep breath to clear my head before returning; creating a stressful and angry environment for Charlie wasn't good. I turned the porch light off and kicked my shoes into a corner, grumbling when mud got wiped along the wood floor in the process. "How's your treatment been going, Dad?" I asked as I went back into the living room, on my way to kitchen.

Charlie mumbled a reply and turned up the volume on the television.

I stopped and a hand went reflexively to my hip. "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

In reality, I was afraid that I _had_ heard him.

Setting his beer can down on the coffee table with an aluminum clink, he huffed and muted the television. "Said I'm not going to those damn chemo treatments anymore. I stopped this past week. Already feeling better—fit as a fiddle." As if his body just wanted to spite him, he let out a small, uncomfortable-sounding cough that left us both wincing.

"You did _what_?" I spat. Anger and hurt welled inside of me.

"I've just decided I'm gonna live my last days feeling okay," he said with a shrug, his voice gravelly with pent up emotion.

"So it's a death wish then, is it?" I shook my head and went over to his recliner. "You can't do this," I whispered. I sounded like a child in that moment and wondered if that's what I really was—a little girl trying to wear big girl's shoes. I felt like I was tripping all over the place. _That'd be just like me._ "You won't get better without the chemo. Why would you do this?"

Charlie rolled his eyes at me and ran a hand over his face, but his supposed annoyance didn't fool me. We were both breaking under the weight of reality, under the weight of what this decision would mean. "That chemo is toxic. I feel it in me all the time, tearing up everything. And the nausea is… Well, it's not pretty—"

"Is that it?" I interrupted, grasping at straws as I drowned in my fears. "It's the nausea? Carlisle can get you a different drug for that, Dad. There's all sorts of stuff we haven't tried. And don't worry about money, okay? We'll find a way to make it. Or hell, you can have _pot brownies_. They'll soothe you and help your appetite." My voice had risen, taking on a hysterical, high-pitched edge as my words scattered ungracefully.

"It's not the nausea, Bells. It's just…well, it's everything. And I'm going to pretend you didn't just say pot brownies," he said wryly.

"I was being _serious_, and it's not like you've never had them. Mom told me _that_ story a long time ago."She'd never come out and said it to my face, but I had a sneaking suspicion that a friend's rowdy birthday party and some pot might have even played a part in my being in the world.

I frowned at him. "You can't just stop your treatment like this." Now I sounded petulant.

"I can, and I have," he argued in an equally childish manner. We stared at each other for several seconds before he sighed loudly. He knew I wasn't going to give up on him that easily. Swans were made of stubborn stuff.

"_Look_ at me, Isabella."

Any anger I'd felt was swallowed by an uncomfortable, cold fear as I stared at my dying father. He never used my proper name. Never. I'd only ever been Bella or Bells or—a long time ago—Baby Bell.

I'd never been Isabella. Not to my dad.

Giving in to the feelings of _smallness_ I was experiencing, I knelt beside his chair on the hard floor and took one of his hands. We weren't usually touchy-feely people, but I needed to feel him right now, just to know that he was alive and with me in the moment. His hands were shaky, thinner than they used to be and cool to the touch. I looked up at him, silently willing him to change his mind.

He had an uncomfortable grimace on his face. Whatever he was about to say was going to be emotional. I braced myself and gripped his bony fingers more tightly.

"I don't want to live this way, and you've got to accept that. Yeah, the chemo might do the trick for a while, but even if I survive it, I'm just buying myself a little time. My chances of lasting five years—even another year—are slim, practically unheard of at my age and this stage of the cancer. It's a lot of money to blow—a lot of pain to endure—for something that probably ain't gonna work.

"I just want to enjoy my life, kiddo—what I've got left of it. I want to go fishing and read those philosophy books Carlisle's been giving me and eat your cooking and just not goddamn think about _anything_ else." His brown eyes pleaded with me as mine pleaded with him. But I knew I was losing. "I just want to relax and let nature take its course. If it's my time, well, that's just the way of things. Remember what I told you when you called the day your fish died?"

I nodded sadly.

"Everything's got to go one day, Bells," he repeated from our past.

Tears began to trickle down my face—hot and ugly and raw. "You just can't give up, Daddy." I shook my head forcefully. Didn't he know that he was all the family I really had left? Perhaps the only family I'd ever had—the only parent that had, even if only for a very short time, _taken care of me_?

He squeezed my hand. "Don't cry. You know I've always hated when you cried. Couldn't even handle it when you were a little thing."

I only cried harder, and I knew then that this was the first of many goodbyes to come.

He sighed and scrubbed away tears of his own with his free hand. He then handed me a crinkled napkin that had been on the side table by his chair. It had a cool, damp ring on it from his beer can. It was comforting. It was my dad, the police chief who came home and relaxed with his cheap local brew.

"I'm not giving up, you know," he said suddenly, slicing through the pained silence that had enveloped us. "Not really. I'm just _choosing_ something that you don't especially care for. There's a difference." His eyes darted away from me then, to the muted people on the television screen. He didn't want to talk anymore.

And so that was that.

I wiped my face and sucked in a deep, ragged breath. "Okay," I said quietly, because I needed to acknowledge him, but didn't have anything better to say.

This was his choice, his life. I had to be an adult—not some snot-nosed kid—and respect his decision, no matter how much I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go.

"Good," he said with a half-smile. He awkwardly pulled his hand away from mine and grabbed his beer again. His other hand took hold of the television remote. It was Charlie's way of saying, _Thanks for the chat, but this is making me uncomfortable._

* * *

I made spaghetti that night, and Charlie ate better than he had in a long time. It was bittersweet, knowing the reason why, that the chemo drugs were no longer turning his stomach at every moment. He ate in front of the television—something we had never allowed between the two of us, no matter how much companionable silence there'd been at our kitchen table. I wasn't going to stop him, though, if that was what he wanted. As far as I was concerned, my life had just made another change. Now things were about making Charlie's dwindling time on this earth as pleasant as possible. He deserved that.

Though I was hungry, I didn't eat. I knew there was too good a chance that it'd all come right back up.

Instead, I trudged on with dogged determination. It had become a goddamned habit. I washed Charlie's clothes, changed his bed sheets, switched out towels, and cleaned the bathroom with bleach. Then I started in on the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and sink and under the table and in the fridge and even behind it. I even went back outside and swept the damp driveway under the glaring yellow glow of the floodlight. It didn't matter that I knew pine needles and other green fronds would litter the bricks again in a few hours. All I wanted was to take my mind off of the fact that it was all over.

It wasn't enough, though, and the conversation with Charlie kept replaying and replaying and replaying. This was so much worse than when he'd been diagnosed, when I'd thought we'd get a second chance with more time. Now? Now, there was no hope, only what luck would give us, only what some uncaring god or fate or nature saw fit to let him suffer through. I felt angry and hurt and betrayed by the universe and even by my father.

Chief Swan just wasn't supposed to give up.

But he wasn't Chief Swan anymore, I reasoned. He was just Charlie Swan—a single man, a single life—and he was going to give up this time, because the bad guy wasn't some underage twerp who'd shoplifted booze or burned rubber in a quiet cul-de-sac. It was fucking cancer. Not many people beat lung cancer. According to what I'd read online, only ten percent survived after being diagnosed. Few lasted more than a couple of extra years.

Charlie _might_ make it to Christmas.

When I went back inside, I found he'd fallen asleep in his chair. The ten o'clock news aired before his closed eyes, coloring him in shades of flashing white and blue and red as the images on the screen changed without his knowledge. I stared at the television, feeling as though I couldn't possibly be further removed from the rest of the world as I was right then. The world went on, spinning and spiraling, oblivious to our circumstances; sometimes it felt like we were standing on the outside of all of it.

_"Zero down, zero interest for the first six months…"_

_"More searching in Portland tonight for the two missing…"_

_"Did you or a loved one recently suffer an injury…"_

_"Maybe it's Maybelline…"_

_"I lost forty pounds…"_

I switched off the one lamp lighting the room and got a blanket to cover Charlie. I tried to ignore the way his breath came out in soft wheezing sounds, but it was all I could hear. Only turning down the volume, I left the television going, so he'd have some sound to wake up to if he got up in the middle of the night.

I bent and kissed his forehead, then the soft knit beanie cap. "I love you," I told him, wishing for the millionth time that I'd said those silly, simple words so much more over the years, that I hadn't been such a bratty kid, that I'd fished more, that I'd never taken him for granted.

* * *

As much as I often tried to deal with things on my own, I knew tonight shouldn't be one of those nights. By midnight, I was ready to fucking climb the walls, I was so stressed. I tried calling Lauren first, but I only got voicemail. Angela was in bed asleep, I was sure, but I tried anyway out of desperation.

Voicemail.

She'd probably turned her phone off.

I even called Alice, who _always_ picked up, no matter the hour (or so she'd told me). At first, when the ringtone stopped, I thought she had answered, but then there was a beep, and I lost my signal to her.

Hugging a pillow close to my chest, staring at a hole in the toe of my left sock, I felt as if I was alone at sea. _It's just like my dreams,_ I thought._ I'm going to end up alone._ I gasped in a breath, my whole body shaking as panic stole over me like a long-legged spider crawling down my neck.

And I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed with a text message.

**From: Edward Masen**  
**May I call you? If you'd rather not speak to me, I'll understand.**

I didn't even think about it as I rapidly punched in two words and sent the text: "Please call."

I answered on the first vibration. "Edward," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice even. It wasn't easy, when I was swallowing back so much grief—and now nervousness.

"Hello, Bella."

My shoulders slumped in relaxation as he smoothly spoke my name, immediately providing some distraction from my awful day. I listened as a gust of wind blew into his phone. Wherever he was, he was outside.

"I'm sorry about last night," I blurted.

"I should be the one apologizing. It wasn't your fault. I—"

"Got upset over fictional monsters?" I said dryly.

He chuckled, and the sound came out dark and low. "Something like that."

"Why _did_ you get so upset?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, I don't mean to pry…" I sighed heavily. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I get that you maybe have a complicated past. Just know that you can tell me. If you want. I mean, I know we hardly know each other, but I want to get to know you better, and I won't ever tell your secrets. Ever. Not to anyone." _Ramble, ramble, ramble._

"Thank you," Edward whispered, "but I'm fine." I heard a door shut and a soft, canine yip that I knew must be Lucky. The normality of the sounds made Edward seem a little less otherworldly to me in that moment.

"Truly, I'm fine," he continued. "I just overreacted. It had been a long day for me." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "But you're right. My past_ is_ dark, to say the least." He paused. "How do you know I'm not a monster?" His voice was light and teasing, but I could hear the undercurrent of truth—or at least truth, as he perceived it.

I knew I'd been right about him!

Considering how little I actually knew this man, I probably should have felt fear at his words, but I only laughed at him. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't think you're a monster."

"You sound so sure."

I did, and I was. My groundless conviction even surprised me a little. "I _am_ sure," I answered. "I don't know… There's just something… You're _not_ bad, okay? _Weird_, maybe, but not bad. Whatever it is that bothers you, it shouldn't be guilt. You aren't a bad person, and I get this feeling that you think you are." I'd seen it in his eyes a few times—this overwhelming guilt and all the uncertainty that came with it—and I'd certainly heard it in his music. I had a deep urge to wipe that away, to give him a clean slate.

Edward was silent on the other end.

I nodded, though he couldn't see me, accepting that whatever was bothering him wasn't going to come out tonight. I sniffled back leftover tears and snot. "_Eww_, gross. Sorry." _I better not be trying to get a second date this way._

Edward ignored my embarrassment. "You've been crying. Why?"

I threw his words back at him. "I've had a long day." _Understatement of the year._

Before he'd called, all I'd wanted was to talk to someone and let everything go, but now I felt embarrassed and uncertain. I'd probably scare him away with all my emotional baggage; he was already bad about running away. It wasn't like we were _really_ dating for me to go about spilling my guts to him, anyway. We'd seen each other a few times, and _I'd_ eaten dinner and _one_ of us had enjoyed a zombie movie. We weren't exactly "in a relationship."

_Are we?_

How did these things work as an adult?

"Bella?"

"Yeah, I'm here." I rubbed at my face. My skin felt rubbery—swollen and wet from crying.

And then Edward said four words that completely unraveled me.

"Tell me what's wrong."

The dam burst. I let out a sob, one I hadn't even known was knotted up and buried in my chest. My heart fluttered and clenched painfully in my chest. "It's my dad," I said at first. "It's _everything_."

It was everything, and I told it all, as if he was some psychologist for me to throw all my cares onto. I told him how the year had started so brightly; how I was on my way to getting a degree I enjoyed; how though I was single, my life was filled with things I loved, people I liked being around; how my dad was so proud of me, even though I was in a silly arts degree at a small college.

Edward listened to every word that tumbled out.

"But then we found out he had lung cancer," I continued. "It doesn't seem fair. He didn't even smoke that long—quit when I was a baby." I sighed in frustration. "It makes me angry. I don't know why _he_ gets to be the one to have it, when there are people who chain smoke until they're fucking eighty.

"The bills pile up like you wouldn't believe. I quit school before the semester started, and I'm working to cover him. He doesn't know. He would hate what I'm doing, but I just… Some medicines work better than others, you know? And if I don't cover him a little, he can't afford those. Some family friends have tried to help, but we can't take their money. It's our problem, you know?

"It's just kind of been one thing after another. The months are just flying by, and he just keeps looking worse and worse. I hate it and really wish there was something more I could do." I felt tears roll down my cheeks in full force as I came to the hardest part. "But now he's said he's quit chemo. He's just…he's just gonna let himself fucking die. It's just…_so fucked up_, Edward. Everything is fucked up."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea. I didn't know," Edward replied.

Through tears, I smiled sadly at his earnestness. "How could you?"

"I'm still sorry. How long does he have?" he asked.

"Different doctors have said different things. Our family doctor…he said 'til December without treatment. _Maybe_. We might get Christmas if we're really lucky." I looked down at my sweater and picked at a loose thread. "I'm really hoping we get Christmas."

"Bella…let me help you. I want to help. What can I do?"

I snorted bitterly. "_Nothing_."

He sighed. "Well, where's your mother in all this? Why isn't she helping? Is she…still around?"

"Renée?" I scoffed. "Renée doesn't give a shit, and she's not about to come up to _Forks_ to help us. She _hates _it here. I don't think she's even been back since '87. Besides, it doesn't affect her directly, so…"

There was a sharp and unexpected inhale, and then dead silence. I couldn't even hear Edward's breathing.

"Edward?"I asked in surprise, my own grief momentarily forgotten. "What's wrong? What happened?"

No answer. Just silence.

"Edward? Are you there? Are you okay? Edward?"

"I'm here," he said suddenly. "I— What's your father's name?"

"What?"

"_Bella._ What is your father's name?" His voice was hard as he enunciated each word.

"It's—it's Charlie. Why?"

"I should go," he growled.

"What? Edward, what's going on?" I frowned. "I just told you everything. The least you can do is tell me what's happening to you right now."

"It's nothing."

"No, it's _something_," I argued. "You keep doing this. You run away whenever you're uncomfortable. It's driving me crazy." If he thought I was just going to let him off the hook this time, he had another thing coming.

He wasn't listening to me. "This isn't right."

"_What_ isn't right?" I felt my heart pounding in my chest. My whole body was alert, and before I knew what was happening, I was pacing around my room, the phone pressed so hard against the side of my face that it was hurting my ear. "What isn't right?" I asked again.

He seemed to be talking to himself when he spoke. "I know I should go."

I heard something in his voice, something frighteningly final. "Don't!" I cried out, not caring if I sounded stupid or melodramatic. "Don't—whatever it is you're doing. Don't _go_. Please. Just don't go. Okay? You said you wanted to help me. Don't—don't go." I wasn't even making sense. He just wanted to get off the phone, right? _Right?_

_Don't leave me._

None of my feelings made any sense to me. I shouldn't give a shit about Edward. I hardly knew him. But the thought of him _leaving_… I couldn't stand it.

"You don't know what you're asking."

"Then _tell me_. Explain it to me. Whatever it is, it won't matter." I came to a stop at my bedroom window and looked out past the tree just outside it, into the dark night. "Just don't run, okay? Stop running." _Please._

There was silence for a long moment, and I held my breath.

"I'm only going to make your life more complicated," he said dejectedly.

But all I heard was his acceptance in that moment, that he'd stay if I wanted him to—and I did, so much and beyond all reason. A deep, aching tension fell from my chest and shattered on the floor. Relief flooded me, and my muscles suddenly felt tired, like I'd been running the Olympic torch around. "My life can't get any more complicated than it already is."

"I'll stay, then," he whispered, "until you ask me to leave."

I smiled, feeling overwhelmed as my emotions got tossed from grief and anger, to fear and now some semblance of…was this happiness? I didn't even know anymore. "Get comfortable," I told him. "I want to get to know you." I laughed as I fell back onto my old, small bed. "Especially since you now know _my_ whole life story. It's your turn to spill."

Edward laughed with me, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. "Hardly. There's plenty more that I want to know about you."

We were silent, and I listened to his steady breathing. When he wasn't flying off the handle, he seemed ridiculously calm and controlled for a person of our age, like he really had his shit together. He breathed deeply, rhythmically, like some yoga master or a cyclist with a resting heart rate of forty beats per minute. I tried to match my breathing to his and felt myself relaxing.

"You're tired," he whispered, and my eyes snapped open.

"Yeah," I said with a sigh. My whole body was shutting down at this point. "I should get some sleep." I looked over at my bedside clock. It was one in the morning. "You probably should, too."

"I'm fine. Why don't you get ready for bed, and then come back and talk to me before you rest?"

"You don't want to wait on me."

"The sooner you go, the sooner you'll return."

"Fine, but if you get bored or tired, feel free to just hang up."

"I won't."

If I was being honest with myself, I was glad he didn't want to break the connection, as silly as it was for me to feel that way. It wasn't like we were using landlines that kept him grounded to Port Angeles or me. Nonetheless, knowing he was on the other end, waiting for me as I got ready for bed, was soothing. It was almost like having someone wait for me _in_ bed.

Almost_._

Another emotion joined all the others as I rushed through my nightly routine, this time foregoing a shower so I could make it to bed sooner. It was that excitement I always felt when I saw Edward—even the first time I'd seen him at The Rosebud—but it was also something deeper, something scary. _Something you better be fucking careful of._

We'd only had the one date, if it could even be called a date. What the fuck was I thinking?

"That didn't take you long at all," Edward said when I put the phone back to my ear several minutes later. I could hear the grin in his voice and felt relieved that whatever had bothered him tonight didn't seem to be on his mind now. I hoped I'd understand him soon, because his mood swings were pretty alarming.

Resting on my side, I smiled and snuggled down beneath my sheets. I let the cell phone rest on my cheek so I wouldn't have to hold it. "Entertain me," I teased.

He chuckled. "You're very demanding."

We talked lightly for half an hour, discussing mundane but somehow incredibly important things, like what our favorite colors were—mine being green, his being blue—or what ice cream we liked—vanilla for me, chocolate for him. He was born in Chicago and played two other instruments besides the piano—guitar and mandolin. I told him that Renée had made me take ballet lessons as a kid and that, graceless as ever, I broke my leg trying to play touch football shortly after coming to Forks. Half asleep, I was smiling like an idiot, and somehow, for just a little while, the world felt right.

"Bella?"

I murmured sleepily in reply.

"May I see you tomorrow?"

That woke me a little. "I'm staying in Forks for the weekend," I said with a yawn. "I always spend Sundays with Charlie."

"Ah." He paused. "What if I came there?"

"Uh, I don't know that that's such a good idea. I mean, I should be around my dad."

"I can take you both to lunch."

_Persistent._ "Um, yeah…okay. I mean, if you want." I smiled. "Just so you know, though, my dad's a retired police chief, and he'll totally grill you, so be prepared. Don't feel bad. He does that to everyone. Even to me sometimes."

"I'm sure I'll be able to handle the interrogation." We laughed.

_Is this a date? _

_Is he meeting Charlie as my friend or…?_

_What's going on between us?_

Everything felt so serious, considering how little I'd seen him. What was wrong with me? My heart thudded heavily as I tried to figure out where we stood with each other. But I didn't ask any questions, not when just an hour ago he'd been panicking and telling me he should "go"—whatever _that_ meant. I rattled off Charlie's address to him.

"I'll be there at noon," he said.

"Great," I mumbled, once again falling asleep. "Oh, and don't bring up his cancer… We try not to talk about it."

"I won't."

"Thanks." I yawned. "And thank you for, you know, listening."

"It's never a problem listening to you," he said.

We were silent, and I once again fell into the comfortable cadence of his breathing. "Bella?" His whisper was like a cool breeze over rippling pond water.

"Mm?"

"Would you like me to hum to you?"

I snorted a little. "You sing, _too_? Wait. Stupid question. Of course you do." Musician, cook, charmer…Jesus.

_He better be shit at something._

He didn't reply, but instead began to hum the lullaby I'd heard at the bed and breakfast. It wasn't exactly the same this time—darker in some places, lighter in others—a living, changing composition—but I fell into it just like the first time. Tears slipped past my closed eyes, but they were peaceful and quiet tears that healed some of my hurt.

* * *

Sunday morning I woke to a series of loud, door-rattling knocks that were followed by a musical call. "Rise and shine, sleepyheads!"

I rolled over and groaned. _Well, good morning to you, too, Alice._

Since he'd slept on his recliner, Charlie beat me to the door. His face softened into an expression of utter indulgence as soon as Alice stepped inside, who looked immaculate, as always.

I was in sweatpants.

"You know I told you that you didn't have to keep coming 'round," Charlie said gruffly. He was breathing heavily, a little winded, just from walking to the door.

She beamed up at him, laying it on real thick—golden puppy dog eyes and all. "Aww," she said with a cute little pout, "but I've missed you."

And just like that, Charlie melted.

Why had I never been able to do that to him?

Alice patted his forearm gently and led him back to his chair in the living room. "I was hoping I could drag you two out to lunch today." Her eyes shifted to where I stood in the doorway. A delicate, perfectly-shaped black eyebrow tilted upward at me.

I frowned at her. "Actually," I said, "uh…" I looked at my father and bit at my lip, feeling a little self-conscious now that morning had come and I had to ask my father to go to lunch with Edward and me. Oh, well. _Fuck it._ "Dad, I've been seeing this guy, Edward Masen, and he's coming by at twelve to have lunch with us, so we've got plans, if you're okay with that. Oh, and it'd be really great if you could be nice to him, okay?" _Since he basically held your daughter together last night._

Alice grinned at me, the corners of her eyes crinkling with her amusement. "Mind if I tag along?" she asked.

"I guess that'd be fine," I said hesitantly. "We didn't make any concrete decisions…"

"Clearly." She smirked.

Charlie huffed in his chair. "Don't I get a say in all this? And who's this guy? Masen? How long have you been seeing him?"

"It's _Edward_, Dad. And not long"—only the one time if you counted non-coincidental meetings, if that was what they truly were—"and there's no label on it, so be nice." _Please._

"You meet this boy at school?" He coughed and patted at his chest.

I chose to ignore the elephant in the room that was his perpetual illness and rolled my eyes. "No, I met him…" What should I say? It was _creepy_ to say Edward and I met at the bed and breakfast in Seattle and then found out we both lived in Port Angeles. Retired Chief Swan didn't believe in those sorts of coincidences. I wasn't sure yet that _I_ did. "I met him at work," I lied, hoping my face wasn't giving me away. "He was buying a book."

"Why didn't you tell me about him sooner?"

"Because I didn't want the third degree." _That I'm getting right now. _I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but I managed to refrain.

Alice gave Charlie's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sure everything will be fine, Charlie." Deciding that the conversation was over, she turned on her heel and headed straight for me, a look of determination on her face. "Upstairs," she commanded.

"What?"

She waved a bag in front of me that I hadn't noticed she was holding. "I brought you something to wear today."

"What?" I asked her as we went upstairs. "_Why_?"

She sighed, as if exasperated. "Because I thought you'd look nice in what I've brought. And it's a good thing I brought you something, since we're meeting your _boyfriend_."

"He's not my boyfriend," I muttered. _Is he?_

"Whatever," Alice said with a shrug before shoving a set of clothes into my arms. "Go shower and put these on. I'll do your hair when you get out."

"I can do my own hair, Alice."

Short as she was, she had to look up at me with her deep frown. "Was I or wasn't I right that everything worked out with Hal's?" she whispered so there was no chance of Charlie hearing. The Cullens were the only ones in Forks who knew I had dropped out of college and was working two jobs; they also knew not to tell Charlie that, even if they didn't like my decision.

I frowned back at her. "Yeah. You were right," I grumbled. "And how the hell _were_ you so right, anyway?"

She giggled. "It was a hunch." She turned back toward my bedroom. "So is this. So don't sass me."

And so I didn't, because I had a hunch of my own that Alice just might be psychic.

_Nah…_

* * *

**_Author's Notes (August 30, 2010):_**_ As always, a special thanks to **duskwatcher2153** and **Aleeab4u**. SotPM really wouldn't be the same without them._

**_Author's Notes (January 26, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	9. The Girl Surrounded by Death

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm09-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm09-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 09: THE GIRL SURROUNDED BY DEATH**

* * *

_There's a science fiction in the space between you and me,_  
_A fabrication of a grand scheme,_  
_Where I am the scary monster._  
_I eat the city, and as I leave the scene…_  
_There's no one but you standing._

_"Telling Stories" by Tracy Chapman_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
I held the last note of the lullaby, letting it fade into the silence found at the other end of the phone call. As it drifted and reverberated off the walls of my new living room, it occurred to me that this lullaby, like all my compositions, had never been _mine_. It had always been _her_ lullaby, quite specifically. I just hadn't known her name.

_Bella's lullaby._

It was the only piece I'd written that wasn't about death, but it belonged to a woman I'd nearly killed. "Sleep well, Bella," I whispered.

With a sigh, she turned at the sound of my voice, and her cell phone dropped quietly onto rustling sheets. I could hear her deep, calm breathing, the tinny sound of her steady heartbeat through the connection, and knew that for at least one more night I had kept her nightmares at bay.

I ended our long phone call and heaved a sigh. This was one of those times where I wished I could curl up beneath a blanket and muffle my worries in painless slumber, but there would be no sleep for me. There was no sleep in purgatory.

I was left with my thoughts—or really, it was just _a_ thought, for the same truth repeated in my brain, rotated on its carousel again and again.

Isabella Swan was Renée's daughter, and death surrounded her like a suffocating quilt of darkness. Worst of all, I had to face the fact that I'd played the part of Death in her life—more than once, more than twice.

Bella, before she'd even been Bella at all, had unwittingly changed my existence with her own, a fact that made me realize just how _young_ she was—just how _old_ I was and how ashamed I should feel about my attraction to her. Without knowing it, she'd saved countless lives that would have been lost by _my_ hand had I not met—and even worse, _seduced—_a pregnant Renée in 1987 Seattle.

But at what cost did Bella beget all of this change?

I'd nearly snuffed out her life before it had even begun—a notion that was nearly crippling, that shamed me until I cringed beneath its weight. Even if indirectly, she had given me my humanity. She had given me music and reading and some modicum of _peace_, an existence not blindly led by thirst and subsequent rage. She had given my victims their stories. I owed her life _everything_ for that alone. I perhaps even owed Renée, even if she had only ever become the unfit mother I feared she might.

And how had I repaid Bella for these gifts?

I'd nearly killed her again in Seattle. I'd _stalked_ her. I was _still_ stalking her, still creeping into her room when she was in Port Angeles, and now seriously considering the same routine for her visits to Forks. Though my intentions had transformed over the last week, none of it changed the fact that I was still hunting her, when she had done nothing to deserve the evil I would bring into her life.

She said she wanted me to stay, that her life couldn't possibly become any more complicated, but my presence would endanger her in ways that were beyond my control, in ways that I was only now allowing myself to consider. Our relationship, whatever our relationship was, placed her in a very unwelcoming world—my world. What would happen if she ever discovered what I was? Secrecy was the one rule I was told mattered. Revealing our secret to a human one had no intention of turning was tantamount to a death wish for all parties involved.

Then there was the simple fact that I put her at risk _directly_. How many times had I considered killing her in the two weeks since we'd met? Since before she was born, I'd wanted her blood. Now, it was even more delectable. Renée's blood wasn't diluting it, and it was laced with pheromones that seemed to draw me in, as if I were a sailing ship pulled toward a shining lighthouse beacon. All it would take was one cut, one broken bone or skinned elbow, and I feared I might kill her.

_Her blood…_

I growled in frustration as I swallowed excess venom. It trickled and slithered down my throat, taunting the burn.

Her blood was like a heady concoction made just for me, and in turn I was her very own demon. What could God possibly have against such an innocent, well-meaning creature that he should continue to put her in harm's way, in _my_ way?

But staying wasn't about her blood anymore, I didn't think. The more time I spent in Bella's presence, the less I felt compelled to bend under the weight of my bloodlust. Even though it still savagely burned and tore at me, the monster was precariously held at bay once again. However, as the temptation to drain her subsided, all the other feelings she inspired seemed to double in strength. I'd not felt so pushed and pulled by my own emotions since my newborn years.

It was for that reason that I found myself at a very troubling impasse, for while there were moments where I wanted to possess her in every way imaginable, there was also the ever-present instinct to protect.

What was I to do when the very thing I felt I needed to protect her from was myself? The obvious solution was to leave her and never interfere in her life again. But what choices did I have when she was begging me to stay?

The truth was that I wanted to stay.

I wanted her, because every time I was with her, I felt curiously at peace. Even when she angered and frightened me, I was drawn to her, to her quiet and shy beauty, to her laugh, to the kindness she showed her father.

Unfortunately, the fact remained that though I might have control of _the_ monster inside of me, I was still _a_ monster, and my world was not to mix with Bella's if she was to live a long and happy life, a life she deserved.

_"Don't go_," she so often whispered to me at dawn, when I would leave her bedside. She didn't even know she was speaking to me, but she always called to me, always stretched out a slender hand.

"Don't go," she begged me tonight.

I wanted to stay, to understand her, to know her mind, to know her body. I wanted _everything_ with her. I wasn't even quite sure what that encompassed, but I blindly wanted anything she would give me. I was consumed with a greedy desire to be a normal man for an abnormally extraordinary woman, despite all my past sins against humanity—against _her_.

Could I exist in our two worlds and keep her safe?

I wasn't sure, but wanted to try. It was selfish, but I wasn't ready to let go.

* * *

Forks' town center was old and rundown, with trends in its architecture and design that showed it had peaked in the seventies and now didn't quite know how to function in a technologically-driven economy and world. With so little traffic to hinder me, I drove down the main roads easily, noting that several of the restaurants and motels Renée had envisioned twenty years ago were still in business, or as "in business" as small town stores and offices could be.

When I reached the outskirts of Forks, I knew I was coming near to Charlie Swan's house, and I began to feel nervous. I wasn't quite sure why, considering I had about sixty years on Bella's father, but then, I didn't look it, and I knew _that_ well. I would be judged according to my twenty-year-old appearance.

_Don't slip, and you'll be fine_, I told myself, but it had been a long time since I'd dived so deeply into playing human. I'd always done this in some capacity, either for hunting purposes in the past or, more recently, to simply put humans at ease as I interacted with them, but this was different. I wasn't hunting, and I would likely see Charlie, and certainly Bella, again. This day was important.

It was paramount that I seem _normal_, which was nothing short of a laughable concept for a vampire. Bella might be absurdly forgiving of my sometimes questionable behavior, but I wasn't stupid; she was the exception to the rule. Charlie Swan—especially retired _Police Chief_ Swan—was not likely to forgive and forget any strangeness.

_Stay calm._

I needed to be especially careful around Bella. I'd already made numerous mistakes in her presence, either because my thirst was consuming me or simply because I had no means of tapping into her thoughts. I'd always used people's thoughts to modulate my behavior—what I said or didn't say, whether I touched them or not, _how often_ I touched them. With Bella, I flew blindly, and I was stumbling over myself as a result.

There were three cars parked in front of the modest Swan residence: Bella's Honda, a green pickup truck and a shiny, yellow Porsche. I did a double take on the last vehicle. Well, _that_ was something I didn't expect to see in Forks, much less parked in front of Charlie's home. I pulled up behind it, wondering why anyone would ruin such an excellent vehicle with yellow paint.

_He's here!_ A particularly "loud" thought grabbed my attention as I unfolded myself from the car. The inner voice drifted away, though, to be swallowed up in the "talkative" crowd that was almost always prattling on in my head.

And then I smelled it—her. _Vampire_.

My muscles locked defensively as I spun around, putting my back to my car. I curled my fingers until they were claw-like, ready to attack, my eyes darting left to right. I sniffed the air, trying to determine where the vampire was. The scent was far too near the Swan house. I tried to find the vampire's thoughts, but there were too many people in the immediate area for me to discern a mental voice I didn't know.

"Psst, over here!" a soft, girlish voice called from beyond the tree line near Charlie Swan's house.

I growled toward the forest—a low warning sound. _My territory_, it communicated. _Back off. Don't encroach._

I didn't expect the vampire's response. She _laughed_. "Don't be so feral!" she admonished in a quiet tone that only we would hear. "Come have a chat with me." She stayed within the safety of the trees, hidden behind giant trunks.

I narrowed my eyes and glanced between the forest and the small, white house. Leaving Bella and her sick father unprotected seemed like a bad idea, but I only smelled the one female vampire; perhaps I could lead her away from the area if I went to her. I rushed to the tree line and stepped into the cool, damp forest. My shoes sunk slightly into the wilted ferns and muddy terrain.

I'd only met a few vampires in my existence—just in passing—and had only ever stayed amongst a coven for a month in the forties, during one of my two ill-fated flings. Even with little knowledge of my kind, really, I knew we were generally a vile bunch—hunters, thieves and scavengers. Most drank the blood of their victims before stealing their clothes for themselves. Identity theft occurred on occasion.

The vampire I found in the forest went against the grain of my knowledge.

She was in a white, wool coat that stood out starkly from the shade and mossy greens, but what I noticed most was the way she had shifted her weight onto one leg—a decidedly _human _posture that few vampires ever took the time to notice, much less adopt when not in the presence of humans. I'd only ever known myself to do it.

The vampire was short with black, short hair that stood out slightly in soft-edged spikes around her ears. She seemed calm, but a quick search of her mind resulted in near information overload as images and fragmented conversations flitted in and out of her thoughts. A careful smile was on her face.

I neared her warily, with tensed muscles and another snarl vibrating in my chest.

She sighed, her smile faltering. "I'm not hunting here, you know."

"Then what are you doing in the area?" I snapped.

"I could ask you the same, but I already know what _you're_ doing here."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I?" She smirked.

I growled in frustration.

"Oh, would you please calm down already? There'll be no fights here today. Look at my eyes." Pointing at them, she leaned forward and widened them dramatically. "_See_? We're not so different."

I took a cautious step back from her and her venomous little mouth, but I _did_ see.

Her eyes were golden, identical to my own.

"You feed off animals?" I was skeptical. Though I was looking at the proof, it was difficult to believe another vampire would willingly resist temptation. There were still days where the only thing that kept me from going on a rampage was the fact that I would face my victims' dying thoughts.

_Yes, I drink animal blood,_ she answered clearly in her mind. Her eyes connected with mine as she gave me a sly, knowing smile.

I felt panicked. How did she know about my ability? I tried to keep my expression impassive, as if I were still waiting for her to answer me. Perhaps I could make her doubt herself…

_I know you can hear me._ She rolled her eyes.

I hissed and crouched defensively. "What is this? How do you know about me?" I sniffed again, making sure we were still alone. I only smelled our scents and dead, moldy leaves.

She snorted daintily. "You're more arrogant than I thought you'd be. As if you're the _only_ one with a gift."

She had an ability, too, then?

I tried reaching into her mind to understand her better, but her thoughts were still a jumbled mess, apart from the clear answer she'd given me just a moment before. They twisted and turned down a maze of scenes—a face here, a face there, a whipping wire of lightning as it ripped across a gray sky. I wasn't sure if what she was doing was an active or passive trait of her ability, or plain and simple mind games, but it was _very_ annoying and more than slightly unnerving.

As if being unable to clearly read one mind in this region wasn't enough.

"It seems you understand a lot about how my ability works," I complained. "Mind sharing the details of yours so you won't have such an unfair advantage?"

Shrugging, she answered simply. "I can see the future."

I laughed loudly, and my body relaxed and straightened of its own accord. The tightly-coiled knot in my stomach loosened a little. "_Of course_ you can."

_I can._ She smiled. _And I've been waiting to meet you for a very long time._ Her mental answer was crystal clear.

"Oh, is that so?" I asked dryly, still feeling uncomfortable that only one of us was actually speaking. I didn't believe her, even if she was very good at whatever she was playing at. I knew that our kind loved mind games. It was a way to pass through eternity without wanting to kill yourself at every turn due to sheer boredom.

_A psychic_. I snorted. No one could be _that_ gifted.

"You don't believe me," she pouted.

"You'll have to forgive me. I _am_ rather skeptical."

"That's understandable," she said gently. "But why would I lie? Do you think I have ulterior motives?" She said it as if it was the most unthinkable notion.

I stepped closer to her, and she craned her neck upwards to look at me; she was incredibly short, even shorter than Bella. "Regardless of your motives, I think it would be best for you to stay away from the Swans," I said darkly. "I won't let you harm them."

The little vampire surprised me as she openly laughed again; the chiming sound echoed through the forest surrounding us. "You are so silly! _I_ know Bella better than you do. _I _would never hurt her."

She knew Bella? Fear gripped at me.

"Who are you? How do you know the Swans?"

I'd kill her if it'd keep Bella safe. The fear and barely controlled anger were alarming.

Her thoughts gave nothing away as she smiled a witchy smile. "I'm Alice Cullen." She held out her hand to me. "Pleased to meet you."

I tilted my head to the side, considering her. After a century, it took a great deal to surprise me, but I felt my mouth drop open then. I didn't reach out to touch her. "Your coven… You're not the friends Bella says she has in Forks, are you?" It was an absurd idea, but Bella had mentioned only one family in Forks that she was close to.

"That'd be us, yes." Her hand fell back to her side.

"Who's _E._ Cullen? Are you related to him?" I asked, my throat dry and burning. I'd impulsively bought my new Port Angeles house from an _E. Cullen_—at least, that's what the paperwork had said. I'd never met the owner. I'd had no clue I was buying from one of my own. I didn't like it.

"_Her_," she corrected. "That would be Esme. And there's her husband, Carlisle, who is my…father figure, for all intents and purposes. He's Charlie's doctor."

_Carlisle. Carlisle Cullen._ The name was familiar somehow, but I found nothing in my memory to suggest I'd ever met a vampire by that name.

And he was a _doctor_? How could I even begin to believe such things? Perhaps this vampire was delusional.

My eyes narrowed. "How many are in your coven?"

"There are three in my _family_. There are usually more of us, but they're in Alaska right now."

_Family?_

I stopped breathing as a thought occurred to me. "Wait. Does Bella _know_?" I swallowed nervously. "Does she know what you are?" _What I am_.

"Of course not," she scoffed, "but she's _very_ observant. Lucky for you, she's not so willing to believe what she sees; she _is_ human, after all." She shook her head, and her mop of spiky black hair swayed with the motion. "I don't think it would've been so easy if we'd gotten more closely involved when she was younger." She stared past me, as if remembering the past, though her thoughts were still a twisting mess of imagery. "I wanted to get to know her when we were in high school together, but I never saw it ending well if we did."

"So what is this? Is she just a game to you? Are you toying with her, with her father?" The mere thought of a vampire doing such a thing to Bella nearly sent me into a rage.

"_No_," she hissed. "I _love_ Charlie and Bella. I help look after them." I relaxed somewhat as she allowed her thoughts to echo this sentiment. At a speed that was difficult to follow, she showed me scenes of hugging Charlie Swan after he had taken pills from a dozen different bottles, scenes of her helping Bella guide Charlie to and from the bathroom. They were difficult to watch; gone was the healthy, smiling man I'd seen in Renée's thoughts so long ago—the man that, until last night, I'd never expected to actually meet.

The world was much smaller than I'd ever expected it to be.

I didn't want to believe Alice was telling the truth. The idea of _compassionate _vampires went against all I knew regarding my kind, and to believe in the possibility of that meant I had to trust in the sprightly woman before me. Yet, there was clarity, a truth to these thoughts she was so willingly sharing. These weren't conjured up imaginings. They were most certainly her memories.

I sucked in a breath when I saw she had been in the presence of Charlie's blood.

"How?" I asked incredulously. Just seeing his blood in her memory set my throat aflame.

She shrugged, and the memories shut off, as if she'd turned a faucet valve. I was once again met with stilted scenes, this time of traffic jams and shouting stock traders on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Her thoughts seemed random, but I knew she was hiding something. "Love conquers all," she answered.

I laughed. "That's a fine sentiment, but the bloodlust doesn't easily bend to such _human_ emotions."

She smirked. "Doesn't it?"

Her cryptic attitude was grating.

"You're very good at giving me only what you want," I remarked as I tapped my temple with a finger. "It's annoying, and I can't help but wonder what you're hiding." Not to mention how she was doing it.

"Oh, I see. Since I value my privacy, I must surely be guilty of something?" She smiled. "It's the old 'if you're innocent, you have nothing to hide' myth?" She used obnoxious air quotes. "My thoughts are my own until _I_ can trust _you_, and I get to decide when that is."

I blew a long breath between my lips. "Well, I still don't believe you're psychic."

"That doesn't surprise me. You're stubborn." She quirked a brow. "Of course, that's why you and Bella are so perfect for each other." At that, she looked back in the direction of the house. "We should go back. I only told her I was getting something from my car." A flash of something—a thought of Bella opening the front door—surfaced in her mind, but she shut it down promptly. In its place, I watched an orchid blossom; its growth shown in staggered frames, as if from a stop-motion animation.

More than slightly bewildered by this turn of events, I followed behind Alice closely, my senses still alert as she walked back to the house. _How should I handle this?_ Instinct told me to grab Bella and run away—very, very far away—as Alice and the rest of her coven might be dangerous. But then, Bella spoke highly of her "friends in Forks" as being some of the only people—I scoffed at the term—to help Charlie and her, and it was obvious that Alice fed from animals. In theory, she shouldn't pose a risk, but how could I know for certain?

Not that it wasn't terribly hypocritical of me to fear Bella Swan might be put at risk by a vampire's proximity.

I frowned. Bella was more surrounded by death than I'd even realized. How long had she been unwittingly associating with these vampires? Were they as drawn to her as I was? I really didn't like the thought of _that_.

Just who the hell were the Cullens? Alice's coven leader was supposedly a _doctor_—Charlie's doctor, to be exact. How was it even possible for a vampire to be surrounded by all the blood a doctor would undoubtedly encounter on any given day? The very thought of it made me thirsty.

I would definitely kill humans again if they were openly bleeding around me. I'd done it before. Sighing, I swallowed venom and willed my body into submission. It wouldn't do to be thirsty around Bella, of all humans.

At the porch, I hopped a couple of steps ahead of Alice. I was displeased enough that it looked like she'd be entering with me, so the most I could do was make sure I was between her and the humans inside.

Just as I was reaching for the door handle, a pounding heartbeat sounded loudly on the other side, and the door swung open. There, in all her very frazzled glory, was the young woman who had taken up residence in my brain. A smile broke out on my face. She was dressed differently, with a soft-looking navy sweater that hugged every curve, and I found my eyes lingering where they shouldn't. This was not her typical, faded t-shirt.

As always, she smelled heavenly, like a garden straight from Eden. I breathed deeply, relishing the fire that meant she was near. Somewhere, the monster pulled at his chains, but if I could just _see_ her, it was enough to keep him in his place. If at all possible, I would never, ever hurt this woman again.

"Oh!" Bella stopped abruptly from running out the door, grabbing hold of the doorframe to keep from tripping forward as I'd so often seen her do. I smirked as she tried to play it smooth, as if she were relaxing against the damp wood. "I didn't hear you drive up." She sounded breathless and excited, and it was as if my own heart was speeding away with hers.

I smiled, almost overwhelmed by the sight of her. "I parked along the street, behind the Porsche," I explained. I stepped closer, further wedging myself between her and Alice. "You look beautiful, Bella."

_Beautiful_, in fact, was an inadequate word. At her worst, I was finding that was how she looked to me.

Her blush, which had cooled, reignited tenfold. "Uh, thanks," she said softly, her eyes darting down to the one questionable part of her ensemble—her old, muddy sneakers.

Tilting her head to see around my shoulder, she spoke to Alice. "I was just coming to find you... I'm guessing you guys met outside?"

"Yep," Alice said behind me. "We're becoming fast friends, aren't we, Edward?" I flinched as she patted my back.

Bella looked between us with narrowed eyes before backing away from the door. "Okay… Well, get inside, you two."

Charlie's home was dated by about twenty years but warm, and the scents inside were both delicious and cloying. While Bella's lay heavy in the walls, a bed of roses imprisoned in old plaster, so did Charlie's woodsy aroma and, most potently, the smell of sickness and medicine.

If my senses could tell me anything, it was that Charlie Swan did not have long on this earth. My dead heart clenched for Bella, and I decided right then that, if at all possible, I would be there for her at least until Charlie passed.

Needing to make contact, I reached out carefully and placed my palm along the small of her back, mimicking what I so often did to her at night when I delighted in her unedited sleep talking. As always, her heat bled into me, rushed up my arm and through my body, which was often all too eager to respond. I watched in fascination as her shoulders relaxed.

_My touch does this to her._

Bella's smile was watery and unsure as she gazed up at me. "Come meet my dad?"

I nodded and kept myself near her as she led me into the living room. I made sure Alice was always behind me. It left me vulnerable to attack, but it was the only way to ensure Bella's safety while also maintaining some semblance of human normalcy. Considering both Bella and Charlie were completely oblivious to the fact that two killers were in their home, I couldn't exactly have a snarling fit with the other vampire in the room.

_Edward_, Alice called in her mind, immediately gaining my full attention, as if she'd spoken my name aloud. _You need to relax or Charlie's going to be suspicious. Don't walk around like you sat on a pole. You don't have to be so paranoid and uptight, you know. I'm not going to _eat_ anyone. I hunted just this morning!_

Part of me wanted to argue with her, but now wasn't really the time, and she was right that I wasn't relaxed. I forced myself into a calmer stance.

_That's better_, she thought. _If only you weren't wearing that dark shirt. It doesn't complement your complexion _at all_, you know._ She imagined me in a light grey button-up and put a ridiculous smile on my face. _See? _Much_ better._

Annoying was more like it. What was I, a five-year-old? She wanted to dress me now?

Charlie turned off the television as we neared him. Alice's memories were older ones, clearly, and they hadn't done his current situation justice. He looked worse—weaker, smaller—but he stared at me with Bella's strong brown eyes, judging and calculating.

As I stared back, I searched for his thoughts, unsure of what I would find, considering the silence of his daughter's mind. His thoughts were indeed quieter than most humans'—not blissfully, exasperatingly silent like Bella's, but most definitely muted.

_Huh. Never would have thought…Bella's type._

No, most wouldn't expect their daughters to bring home vampires, I imagined.

"Dad?" Bella said as she went to stand beside his recliner. "This is Edward." The blush had yet to leave her face, and I found myself having to hold back a poorly-timed laugh. Bella's thoughts might be locked tight, but her face, I was learning, could sometimes give her away.

My laughter died quickly as she timidly reached out and took my hand. It was a warm gesture that made my still heart jump to phantom life. How could she tolerate my cold skin? Did she still not fear me at all? She seemed content and graced me with a tiny, sideways smile.

Charlie didn't miss the interaction, nor give any formal pleasantries. "So, is your family from around here? Can't say I know any Masens off the top of my head…" _Don't cough_, he ordered himself as he placed a hand over his chest. Stubborn, he didn't want to show any weakness in my presence.

"_Dad_," Bella admonished in embarrassment.

"It's all right," I told her with what I hoped was a winsome smile that I then turned to Charlie. "I'm originally from Chicago, sir."

_And how long ago was it that you were in Chicago?_ Alice thought sarcastically.

For a supposed psychic, she really wasn't being helpful in the least.

"Chicago boy. Uh-huh." _Better make sure he's going to…treat…right. Better…Jacob._ A hazy image of a tan-skinned boy with his arms thrown around a younger Bella swirled in his thoughts, along with a bitter tinge of disappointment.

An unfamiliar emotion surged in me. Who the fuck was that kid?

The image soon faded, and Charlie struggled to a stand. "Well, let's get this show on the road. I'm starved."

* * *

The drive to Charlie's favorite diner was one of the most awkward experiences of my existence. Bella drove her car—very slowly—with her father in the passenger's seat, which left Alice and me in the back. That was too close for my comfort, and I sat wedged into the side of the car in an effort to keep my distance. Directly in front of me, Bella noticed this and lifted her eyebrows at me in her side mirror. I shrugged, and she stuck her tongue out.

That preoccupied me for a while.

If Alice noticed my discomfort, she didn't care in the least. She insisted on sitting on the skinny middle seat, so she could talk to everyone, a feat which apparently was impossible without the full use of her hands, the left of which was always invading my personal space. She prattled on to Bella about fashion, and Bella, for her part, tried to appear interested, but I suspected she merely enjoyed Alice's exuberance. Charlie didn't seem to mind Alice's motor mouth, either.

_Fashion. Doctoring. _What kind of vampires were these?

The diner smelled of old grease and bitter vinegar when we entered, as if both had been cooked directly into the wood wall panels through the years. At least it wasn't like McDonald's. So help me Christ, I was never letting Bella eat in that place again.

Patrons seated themselves in the diner, and Bella chose a booth as far away from everyone else as possible. I didn't miss the glare she gave a few people who stared pityingly at Charlie. Her ineffectual fury was oddly endearing, really.

Still, I was glad it was aimed at others, and not myself. So far.

I slid into the booth, expecting Alice to join me, but it was Bella who sat down beside me. She left no distance between us; her thigh pressed against mine with a blazing heat I wanted so badly to know, to touch, to taste. A fire flickered between us as I turned my body toward hers.

I leaned over and breathed in her scent. I could see down her sweater—the cream-colored swell of breasts, a sweeping arc of treacherously black lace. Two sides warred within me, the side that desired to seduce her and have my way, and the side that wanted to protect her and put space between us. I wasn't sure which side was winning at the moment. I was ensnared, enthralled.

Alice cleared her throat. _She has a face, you know. Better keep your eyes on it, too. Don't think Charlie would be too thrilled to catch you as you are right now._

Straightening up, I narrowed my eyes at her. She grinned cheekily and recited designer labels in her head—in reverse alphabetical order. She was becoming less of a threat and more of an annoyance as the hour wore on at a snail's pace. Still, I took her advice and kept my eyes on safer, if less interesting places.

A slender woman with fake red hair came to our table and asked for our drink orders. I ordered a beer. It seemed the right thing to do when Charlie asked for one. I wanted to fit in and be accepted—as best I could, at least.

"_Dad_." Bella leaned forward on the table when the waitress left. "I'm pretty sure Carlisle didn't mean _a beer a day_. You _are_ still taking pain meds, you know." Bella looked to Alice for backup, but she was wisely staring out the window.

_You'll find Bella gets rattled like this a lot. _

Her thoughts were colored with sympathy, and I realized that perhaps Alice Cullen really was a friend to the Swans.

I still had my doubts, too.

Charlie breathed in a shaky breath and stared back at Bella. "_My_ life, Bells. Remember what we talked about?"

Bella's face fell, and she sat back with a soft, defeated sigh. Under the table, I grabbed her hand and squeezed. It was the lightest of flexes for me, like cradling a butterfly. She laced her fingers through mine and squeezed back. My skin didn't give beneath her touch, but my heart did.

Alice's eyes were smiling. _See? You two make a great match._

I frowned. As if Bella could ever see me as her "match." And then my brow furrowed. Did I _want_ to be seen that way?

Perhaps, I did. Perhaps…

I looked down at the menu in front of me. What was I even doing here? It was comically absurd, a cliché joke waiting to unfold. _Two vampires and some humans walk into a diner…_

Still, against all logic, I wanted this lunch to go well. I wanted Bella to be happy.

I wanted her to be happy _with me_, even, but I didn't quite understand that emotion or really any of the emotions I'd felt since our—was it a _date_?—on Friday. I never knew what was going on with Bella. I was always diving in headfirst and only thinking in the aftermath.

Charlie cleared his throat before turning his gaze on me. "Bella hasn't exactly been outspoken about you…" He frowned. "What do you do? Are you in school?"

"Self-employed. I compose music," I answered. "Contemporary piano."

_Oh, great… Musician… Heartbreakers._ "You make a living doing that?" he asked doubtfully. _Bet...lives at home…_

"Dad!" Bella admonished.

I patted her leg. "I do all right," I answered vaguely. Telling Bella's father that most of my money came from poker tables every few years probably wouldn't be wise.

"Hobbies?"

This really _was_ an interrogation.

"Didn't you say you liked to hunt?" Alice asked suddenly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Deep in thought, Bella was looking at me with a wrinkled brow.

I glared at Alice as I spoke. "I don't mind hunting, no."

Charlie perked up a little. "Oh, yeah? What game? You use a rifle?"

"Deer mostly," I grumbled. And while it might have been amusingly masculine to tell him I hunted with my bare hands, I said that, yes, I used a rifle.

"Deer can be a little boring. It's bear season, now until December," Charlie offered. _Wish…still hunted._

"That so?" I said, as if my blood-drinking proclivities had anything to do with what was in season. Glancing in annoyance at Alice one more time, I tried to guide the conversation back to safer places. "I spend most of my time on music, though. I'm a very quiet person—a bit like your daughter, I think." I smiled at the easy lie. "I just stay holed up in my house with my piano and dog."

I left out my most recent hobby: stalking his daughter.

"Quiet, huh?" A small smile lifted Charlie's face. _Maybe not…bad after all. _"Bells always had her nose in a book—some old-fashioned romance." He chuckled and coughed into his hand. There were tired circles under his eyes, and I could tell this one short outing had sapped his energy. He was hiding the worst of it for Bella's sake.

"Romance?" I asked, looking down at Bella in surprise. Her bookshelves in Port Angeles were filled with speculative fiction. Poetry collections were the closest she came to any romance.

Bella gave an uncomfortable, high-pitched laugh as she untangled her fingers from mine. I missed her warmth immediately.

She crossed her arms over her chest as a blush crept up to her ears. This time—for the first time—it didn't inspire venom, just sweet heat that started in my chest and pulsed outward. "I don't read those books anymore," she said, looking at all of us in turn. Though her face was alive in its redness, her eyes were coolly distant, protecting something.

What was she thinking?

"No, but you did read them." Charlie's expression was sad. Another image of a younger Bella surfaced in his thoughts. It was a softer version of the woman I knew, from what was clearly a softer time. Her remembered smile was shy, but brilliant nonetheless and certainly less troubled.

I longed for her to exist in a gentle world again, but I didn't know how I, of all creatures, could give her that.

The conversation ended in awkward silence.

I looked at Alice, curious if she knew the story behind Bella's reasons for giving up a whole genre of fiction. She shrugged. _Let's just say that you're not the first supernatural element in Bella's life, even if she's not aware of the supernatural part of it._

I looked at her pointedly. _Clearly_, I wasn't the first supernatural being in her life, but what did Alice mean?

_It's a long story—one you're not ready for._ I was treated to cross-country weather reports, then.

Very helpful.

How was it that, even after last night, even after meeting her father, I was still clueless? The more I knew Bella, the less I really understood. Would she ever make sense to me?

* * *

Having given up on all human concoctions of the bovine variety, I suffered through grilled chicken, making it halfway through the lump of cooked meat before I felt like I might reproduce it on the table. It was going to be quite the devil to exorcise later, and I wouldn't have eaten so much, save that Bella was watching me closely, expectantly, the whole time. Alice thought that was hilarious and silently goaded me with each bite.

_Tastes _fowl_, doesn't it?_

"Oh, you're a real riot," I retorted in a low voice only we would hear. Nonetheless, I was beginning to think that she perhaps _was_ harmless. Maybe. I still didn't like her being around Bella and Charlie, though.

Inedible mush and beer in my useless intestines aside, the lunch went well. I'd managed to sit through an entire hour of Alice's inner—and outer—peppiness and Charlie's questioning.

I would have been happy to stay longer, but Charlie became tired after eating. Bella insisted we leave shortly after doling out his next round of pain medication, all of which she had tucked away in her purse, like some mobile pharmacy.

Right before Alice was planning to rise from the booth, a bright flash of white light consumed all other thought. It strangely faded into a scene that looked down on our table. In it, Alice was standing as Charlie slid from the booth and fell, breaking his wrist on the way down. She'd had no means of catching him without moving at an inhuman speed.

Alice's eyes caught mine.

Another flash. This time Alice helped Charlie out of the booth. There was no fall, no broken wrist. We left to go back to Charlie's home, instead of the hospital.

_Those are visions. As you can see, they're dependent on what I choose to do_, Alice thought to me as she followed the path of the second vision, gripping Charlie's hand as he made to stand.

There was no fall, no broken wrist.

A psychic? Was it really possible?

I frowned as I thought of how she said she'd been waiting to meet me. I didn't like the thought of anyone looking into my personal life. There were some sins that I wasn't eager to confess to anyone.

"You're always so cold, kid," Charlie muttered in disapproval as he held Alice's hand. _Not right…_ But he stayed holding on tight; he trusted her, even if his rational side tried to tell him to do otherwise.

"But you know I've got a warm heart," Alice countered cheerily.

Bella once again looked between Alice and me with narrowed eyes. She sighed and shook her head.

* * *

"Don't you want to go fishing, like we said we would?" Bella asked quietly once we'd made it back to Charlie's and Alice was in the kitchen, making tea.

"Think I'd rather just sit here," he said as he plopped down onto his recliner. "Maybe take a nap. Why don't you all head out for the night? Still got a bit of the weekend left."

Bella's brow furrowed. "But…"

Charlie interrupted her. "I'm tired, Bells."

"I can just sit here with you," she offered. "You don't have to be alone." That wrinkle was back between her brows; it was a sign of deep, worried thought.

I could tell from Charlie's thoughts that he wanted to be alone, though. In an odd sort of way, we were alike, in that we were both putting on masks for his daughter—and not doing a very good job of it. I played the part of a boy, when I was really an old, undead vampire; Charlie pretended he wasn't dying, when he knew he was. He felt it in everything he did.

"Bella?" I spoke softly, using a soothing tone that calmed humans. "Charlie'll be all right, I'm sure. Come on, I'll make sure you get home." I touched her shoulder. She was far too slender. I could easily feel her bones. Stress was eating away at her.

Bella surprised me as she pulled away from me. A fiery light flared in her eyes. "I don't need you to help me get home," she said. "In case you failed to notice, my car's right outside. This is _our_ business. You just got here."

"I'll leave if you want me to," I whispered, meaning it, even if the thought pained me.

I certainly wouldn't go far, though, not with another vampire in their house—even if that vampire was stirring sugar into a cup of Earl Grey.

"I don't want that." Bella's face softened. "I'm sorry."

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, I want you both to head out."

Alice came into the living room and handed the tea to Charlie. "We'll be off, then," she said, and then to my utter shock, leaned forward and kissed his head.

She turned and looked between Bella and me. "Nice meeting you, Edward." With that, her mind opened up, just a crack, to show me a point on a Washington map; the image changed, then, to show a series of turns through a nearby forest where a narrow back road existed. It led to a large white house with glass window walls on its southern side. It looked faintly similar to the house I'd just purchased from her family member. _The elusive Cullen home_,she thought with a smile. _Come visit us sometime._

Bella and Alice embraced briefly, and then Alice Cullen left, taking her strange thoughts and absurdly yellow Porsche with her. No blood was spilled or drunk, and I was left questioning all I knew about my kind.

_There were others like me._

I didn't have time to dwell on this revelation as Charlie began fighting with himself in his thoughts. He needed to have a coughing fit, but he was determined not to do it in front of Bella.

"We should go," I said to Bella, and she finally consented with a slow nod. I could tell from the way she bit her lip that she didn't want to leave him.

I smiled at Charlie. "It was nice meeting you, sir." I reached to shake his hand.

_Damn…cold_, he thought as our skin met. "Your hand's cold, too, dammit. You gonna give me the same excuse as Alice?" he asked dryly.

Behind me, Bella responded in a gentle voice. "I think his heart's just fine, Dad." I turned in time to see her lovely smile.

_She saw good in me. _It was baffling, but for the moment I accepted the idea. My heart certainly _felt_ warm from her words, and it stayed that way the entire drive back to Port Angeles, even when I had to frustratingly go the speed limit behind Bella's car.

* * *

**_Author's Notes (September 12, 2010):_**_ Thanks to **duskwatcher2153** for reining in my aimlessly floating paragraphs and to **Aleeab4u** for her encouragement. I think I'd really be panicking at this point in the story without these two!_

**_Author's Notes (January 27, 2011):_**_ Cleaning house / editing._


	10. Revelations at Midnight

**_Author's Notes (September 21, 2010):_**_ While this is a short chapter, for me at least, it's pretty important, as far as the plot goes. It will answer some questions, while raising others, so I'm a little nervous. I hope everyone enjoys it. _

_Thanks, as always, to **duskwatcher2153** and **Aleeab4u**. They saved me from publishing several rather awkward lines this time, believe me._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm10-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm10-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 10: REVELATIONS AT MIDNIGHT**

* * *

_And all the suffering that you've witnessed_  
_And the handprints on the wall_  
_They remind you how it's endless_  
_How endlessly you fall…_

_"Breathe" by Alexi Murdoch_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Though I was loath to leave Bella at night when nightmares might disturb her, I decided I _had_ to visit the Cullen property. Alice seemed oddly harmless, quaintly humanlike, but I wouldn't feel relaxed about her coven's involvement with the Swans as long as they knew more about me than I did them. After making sure Bella was in a deep sleep, I returned to Forks.

The Cullens lived on a stretch of land north of the Calawah River, in the fog-filled belly of a verdant forest. An unpaved road snaked its way toward their home, but I kept beneath thick tree canopies that slowly drip-dropped rainwater from above. I weaved my own pattern between broad trunks and low-hanging branches that were perhaps even older than I was. Scents from three distinct vampires swirled around me, and I saw evidence of buried animal carcasses, further proving our shared dietary choice. I tended to leave my bloodless kills for scavengers, but a coven of three or more probably couldn't risk exposure by constantly leaving a trail of animal bodies in their wake. Local rangers and hikers would eventually notice.

Perhaps there were more vampires who chose to live this way that weren't good at hiding their kills. I idly wondered if that was how the Latin American legend of the chupacabra began. It wouldn't be the first time vampires had interwoven our existence with some other legend.

I stopped at the edge of what I knew to be the winding Sol Duc River; the Cullen house came into view. I sat on a curling, gnarled tree root and stared ahead—watching, waiting. Several massive cedar trees guarded the front of the house, obscuring it from weaker, human eyes and, I imagined, shading its large, wrap-around porch on the rare sunny day that this region of the United States managed to entertain.

Theirs was an extravagant, three-story mansion that was painted a creamy white and was luminescent under the thin, waning crescent moon. The house was older, with a few blatantly modern touches; clearly restored from a previous state and time, in which it might have been some wealthy man's show of money or perhaps even a rural lodge of some sort, given its large, rectangular shape. As I'd seen in Alice's thoughts, the whole south side of the house was covered in windows in a fashion that was similar to one of the walls of my new home in Port Angeles. I supposed Esme Cullen favored the light, even if she was a creature of darkness.

The house and its surrounding yard were shadowed and quiet. No thoughts stirred inside, and though I cast the net of my ability wide, I found myself alone beyond the audible sound of scurrying animals, whose thoughts were often just a quivering blur of color and form. I edged nearer to the house, my senses alert, always prepared for a last minute ambush.

Alice had blatantly invited me, of course, but I was wary of my own kind. We were an instinctual lot, sometimes given to near-primitive territoriality that spurred on a whole host of problems. Since giving up human blood, I had also noticed that the bloodlust for our natural source of food had a way of making us… _Unstable_ was the most fitting word. Territoriality and instability did not make for a good mix.

But the Cullens appeared to feed from animals, and so I tentatively crept closer, my curiosity ignited. I stepped forward, ducking behind one of the large cedar tree trunks before edging forward once again. I went from cover to cover, until finally I reached the bottom porch steps, where I hesitated. The Cullens weren't home. What was I planning to do here?

Wind whistled past me, stirring a set of chimes that chinked lightly as they danced on the breeze. I heard a quiet, unexpected rustling at the doorway and stiffened in alarm.

Looking toward the door, I noticed then that there was a folded piece of paper taped to the doorknob. I stared at it for a moment before slowly stepping up onto the porch and pulling it free. I unfolded the lavender stationery.

_The door's unlocked, and we'll be in Canada until Tuesday. Consider yourself officially invited in! This way you don't have to feel guilty about breaking and entering—and don't give me that look. –Alice_

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I stared at the note with the heart-dotted I's. Alice knew I would be here this night, it seemed. She knew I wanted information but was threatened by the unknown elements her coven presented. I still didn't know how to feel about her ability, even if I could imagine it was very useful. I snorted. _Yes. Useful to her coven, but not necessarily to me._ It just had a way of making me feel uncomfortable.

I looked around and spoke into the silent night. "Can you see me asking this question? Are you watching me all the time now?" More importantly, _how long_ had she been watching me?

A dragonfly's wings thrummed to life near the river's edge. No one replied. I was alone, and without further delay, I turned the unlocked doorknob of the Cullen house and stepped into the shadows.

When I'd bought the house in Damascus, I'd laughed at how odd it was for a vampire to purchase real estate. Nearly indestructible, vampires had no real need for shelter, and if we did, surely we would just take a house from a victim or rent a hotel room for a night. But I'd bought my house, just like a regular _person_ would; I'd furnished it with a few human materials, had fed my dog in the laundry room, had washed my car—at human speed, no less—in the driveway. I'd thought I was so very human.

The Cullens, though, they put a whole new spin on pretending to be human.

The floral-scented entryway to their home was spacious, flowing freely into a living room that held more human possessions than I'd ever had in my Damascus home. There were couches and recliners, an absurdly large flat screen television, gaming consoles and more besides. Two computers—one a Mac, the other a PC—sat against a wall, a short distance away from the couches and television. Board games and magazines were stuffed beneath the glass coffee table. Several of the games were encased in vintage boxes, and I couldn't help but wonder when the Cullens had actually purchased them. I was over one hundred years old. How old might they be?

No matter their age, it was hard for me to imagine vampires playing Scrabble and Parcheesi. Surely they were just props.

I shut the front door behind me and flipped the nearest light switch. I didn't need the light, but it felt more comfortable to exercise these little pieces of my humanity. Lamps lit up the rooms, and I used the dimmer switch to calm the light to a comfortable, low setting. It was only with the lighting that I truly took notice of what sat just beyond the seating area.

Resting on a slightly raised platform, and beneath a perfectly-orchestrated glow of warm, recessed lighting, a beautiful, black Steinway piano was on display; it was the exact same model I owned, the one I loved. I felt the pull toward it and suddenly couldn't wait for my own piano to be delivered to Port Angeles tomorrow. It had been two weeks since I'd played in Seattle, and I was beginning to feel slightly guilty that I'd not worked on any new compositions.

Quietly, I inched closer until I was by the instrument, and then seated on the bench. I raised the fall carefully and set my fingers along the black and white keys. There was always the fleeting echo of my humanity, the moment where I could _almost_ feel my mother's presence as she directed my fingers into position along the keys. I played scales before gently edging into Bella's lullaby. I smiled as the piece meandered and evolved of its own accord.

Her lullaby had _never_ been stagnant, never exactly complete. The core melody always remained the same, but some notes were flexible, changeable depending on my mood—and now, depending on my thoughts of Bella, in particular. They were warm tonight, slow and worshipful as I remembered this afternoon and the gentle kiss I'd placed on her forehead when I'd left her at her front door. As I'd cradled her cheeks in my hands, her warm skin had glowed a dusty rose. Her eyes had been closed, and she'd breathed a soft sigh.

I stopped playing when her lullaby came to its natural end. The house was silent once more.

In some ways, I desperately wanted to dig into all of the Cullens' file cabinets, just to see what I could find, but having been expressly invited to investigate their home—while they weren't even in it—I'd suddenly developed an annoyingly higher standard for myself. "Bet you knew that'd happen, Little Freak," I muttered as I rose from the piano bench.

I ascended a curving staircase. On the second floor, there two bedrooms and an office that had a connecting drawing room and a similarly connecting library. Ignoring the personal rooms because of my silly conscience, I entered the studies, drawn to the musty ink and mahogany scents that lay within.

Since giving up human blood, I'd read a great deal, and so I knew upon entering the dark-paneled office and connecting room of filled bookshelves that the Cullens had enough books in their house to rival most small town public libraries. Volumes upon volumes were closely wedged in together, and there were many languages adorning leather spines, some of which I'd never seen before. The scent of a male vampire was in the room, leading me to believe the coven leader, Carlisle, frequented this room. How old was he to have possessions such as these?

Going deeper into the office, I went to the large mahogany desk and leather chair that sat near the west-facing windows. I stood in front of the chair and looked down onto the desk. Another note was left for me there; cursive penmanship flowed in loops across heavy cotton paper.

_Dear Edward,_

_I will be here when you're ready to speak, and I will do my best to answer any questions you might have. Please know that Alice has only recently told me about you._

_Kind regards,_  
_Carlisle Cullen_

My brow furrowed as I touched the ink-covered stationery. What was this?

And then I saw it.

I snatched the golden picture frame up from the desk and looked at the vampire couple framed within. The female must surely be Esme, and the male… The male was Carlisle Cullen.

I remembered him instantly. Suddenly, I knew why the name was familiar, why it niggled in the back of my mind. This vampire had known me when I was human. He had been my doctor, my parents' doctor. A knot formed in my stomach as I stared at his face, as I was suddenly inundated with memories I'd tried so hard to bury.

"No!" I shouted and threw the picture across the room as if it were on fire. It was a hard throw that shattered not only the glass but the frame as well. Books toppled from shelves, where it had hit, landing with clunky thuds on a dark, Oriental rug.

How could this be? How had Alice kept this from me? Did she even know of the secrets she was keeping? How much did she know?

The human memory of Carlisle's face was weak, buried deep, deep in a part of my brain that I had little access to, but I remembered him now. Finally, I managed to put a face on the strange "man" that I'd been unable to identify for all these decades. I fell back into the leather chair and breathed heavily as my most wretched, vivid memories from my human life consumed me.

_I lay in sweat-soaked bedclothes, feeling as though my body was eating me alive, hotly chewing on my organs before moving out to my clammy skin. To my right, my mother's bed was merely a few feet away from mine, and my father's was on the right of hers. The main room of the hospital had filled by the time we came in, and we'd been placed on cots in what had once been a doctor's office. The flu had taken us all, was dragging us to our graves, as it had done to so many already. Words like "death" and "epidemic" and "prayer" were muttered around me. The sickness was a slow waiting game, filled with fear and delirium. _

_I thought I might be seeing angels and devils at the foot of my bed—perhaps even Satan himself. He was no red-horned beast, as I'd always envisioned him to be when my parents took me to the Second Presbyterian Church each Sunday. He was magnificent, a golden-haired fallen angel. He watched me closely as he paced between my mother's bed and mine, his chin held between forefinger and thumb. What was he waiting for? What was he thinking? Sometimes I thought I heard him talk about taking me away with him, but his lips never moved. _

_My father died first—quickly, quietly in the night. I was awake when he spent his last breath on his most treasured word, my mother's name. "Elizabeth..." A gasp, then nothing._

_Roaring silence ate at me, and I wailed into the night like a pitiful little boy, unable to stomach lying in a room with my dead father. I quietly heaved the broth I'd managed to eat earlier in the night. The sound was just one of many sounds of sickness in the overcrowded hospital. _

_Satan became Jesus as the golden-haired man strode into the room and quickly removed my father's body, so silently that my mother did not wake. She would not know the horror until morning. The angelic devil seemed fearless, because he was Death himself. He paid no mind for his own health as he brazenly held me in the darkness to his chest, rocking me soothingly as I wept like a weak, small child. He felt so cold against my skin, and that was when I began to think the fever might take me, too, that Death had come to Chicago for me._

_Mother was unable to weep for my father the next day. Each time she tried, the congestion lodged itself in the back of her throat, constricted her breathing until she was gasping for air and drowning in unforgiving phlegm. It was unfair. How was one to grieve if crying was not an option? I watched in fear as she writhed in damp sheets with each passing night. I hated watching her pain, because I knew I was part of the reason she was here and in such bad shape. She had taken care of me far longer than she should have, ignoring her own health to try to keep me out of the hospital. Instead, we'd all ended up here._

_I waited and wondered._

_Must I watch my parents die? Must I lie in the same room with them as they moan in pain? Must I lie with their bodies as they let go of life, smell the putrid scent of evacuated bowels and cooling sweat and bitter, useless cough syrups?_

_I woke with a start a few nights after my father passed. My mother was gasping for air in her bed, and the blonde-haired creature stealthily crept nearer, touching her face and whispering soothing words. Satan or Jesus or something in-between, he had compassion. I watched her sweaty hand grip his wrist and slide ineffectually down to his fingertips. "Carlisle Cullen," she whispered through a cough, "you must do everything in your power." Her frantic green eyes glanced over at me. "What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."_

_He held her hand as she died, and then held me once more as I wept and drooled onto his cotton shirt._

_Carlisle Cullen… _

He'd hardly left my bedside as he'd nursed me back to health.

I got up and went over to the mess I'd made, stared at the shattered frame on the floor. The remembered pain of losing my parents accounted for some of the very few human memories I had retained through my transformation, but I had lost Carlisle's name and face until now, until seeing him again in the photograph. I'd always assumed the angelic demon in my memory was just a hallucination, a fevered boy's dream, but he was real.

He wasn't an angel or a demon, but he was something in-between, perhaps. Carlisle Cullen was a vampire.

Had my mother known somehow? Perhaps she had sensed he was supernatural, just as I apparently had.

Dropping to my knees, I picked up the broken frame, along with the creased and bent picture. Shards of glass ineffectively poked at my skin. I didn't know whether to love or hate the smiling vampire in the photograph. He had followed my mother's dying wish. Against all odds, he had nursed me back to health. I even had a vague memory of how he had offered to help me get back into a "normal life," as I was sick for so long, but I had refused him.

He had given me my life, but by then, it was a life I hadn't wanted.

I only remembered bits and pieces of what happened after the Spanish Influenza, after my parents' deaths. I could still remember my shock and confusion, however. At seventeen, I'd been a foolish, war-hungry boy and had been convinced that I would run off and join the war efforts. I'd put all my eggs into the one basket. But with my mother dead… It had seemed too disrespectful to do that to her memory. She had never wanted me in the war, and so I didn't enlist, so as to honor her. Not that what I'd ended up becoming was any better way to honor her.

My father had been a successful lawyer in Chicago, and his business partners watched me eagerly and nervously. Would I follow in Edward Sr.'s footsteps? Would I lead? Would I bend to someone else? A few of them cared, but most were just lawyers with greedy vulture hearts.

I chose not to get involved, period, and I had no memories of what became of the firm, if it survived or not. Perhaps some watered down version of it even existed to this day. I wasn't sure, since I'd left Chicago in 1923 and hadn't looked back.

In my last years as a human, I'd become a drunkard and a bum, even though I'd had money to do and be otherwise. I wasted my life in aimless misery. Death had changed me. Sitting in the same room with it, fighting it, had simultaneously hardened and destroyed me. Before the flu, I'd thought I was a man—an invincible one, at that—but Death taught me that we were all children to be swallowed up by shadowy monsters. _No one beats death_, I'd thought, _so does any of this even matter_?

I was haunted in my sleep. I couldn't remember the dreams or the particulars of my fears, but I remembered jolting awake at night, looking over my shoulder, obsessing over my health, even as I all but lived in whiskey bottles. Drinking, drinking, drinking—living up to those Irish genes.

The fact that I'd become an alcoholic as a human was rather ironic, considering how I'd gone on to spend the next eight decades as an addict of a whole other kind. I'd been a horrible human, and I'd become a horrible monster.

I sobbed dryly at the picture of Carlisle and Esme, the petite, chestnut-haired female who appeared to be his mate. They were embracing, smiling, and I was suddenly, _childishly_ jealous of them and of the happiness that Alice had exuded at the lunch with Charlie. On some level, as I looked at their smiles, I wondered why _Carlisle_ hadn't changed me. Why had I had to suffer after my parents were gone? He obviously didn't have a problem siring others, so why hadn't he _saved_ me?

So many years had been spent in a bloodthirsty haze. I'd woken to this existence alone, with a thousand voices in my head and a burn in my throat. I'd killed the first person who crossed my path, and then I'd run, far, far away until I reached someplace that was quiet. For two years I'd played that game, living between the woods and the city, learning how to adapt to my gift and hunt accordingly. Using my ability was the only way I'd survived; I killed the dregs of society and avoided getting caught. I was lucky that a number of my murders were blamed on Al Capone and crime of the Prohibition Era.

All those lives I'd taken… Could that have been prevented? Carlisle Cullen had given me my human life back, had restored it so some other nomadic vampire could come through and obliterate it only a few years later. If Carlisle had changed me, would my existence have been different, would I have fed from animals, instead of humans?

Numbness settled over me eventually as I closed down old feelings and locked away unpleasant memories. I cleaned the glass from the floor, put the fallen books back on their shelves and straightened the photo as best I could before gently laying it on Carlisle's desk.

I thought of writing something on Carlisle's note to me, but I didn't know what to say. Should I thank this vampire for saving my human life, for opening his home to me in a very strange and openly trusting manner? Should I curse him for putting me on this path I'd ended up traveling? Should I blame him in part for the many lives I'd taken, simply because some other vampire had changed me and left me to an existence of thirst and sadism?

For the second time this weekend, I felt as though I'd been dealt a hefty blow to the gut, but as I focused on that pain and uncertainty, I felt something else, too. It was that pull—that line of steel cable that always seemed to tug me back to Bella. Peace washed over me as I thought of being by her side again.

I left the Cullen house at top running speed, barreling into the forest, jumping over the Sol Duc River, and threading my way into the night. There was only one truth for me as I pumped my legs and calves harder, until it felt as though my feet weren't even touching ground. I needed Bella.

* * *

Slipping inside the attic room, I silently ghosted to Bella's bedside. She was sleeping on her stomach, like she often did, her heart-shaped face turned toward the window, as if she'd been waiting for my return. She was breathtaking in the shadows, a pale portrait of beauty. I crouched beside her bed and pressed my hand against the small of her back. She stirred slightly, and I watched her brow relax as her lips turned up into a mysterious little smile.

What was she dreaming?

Being near Bella again did wonders for my mood. It didn't seem to matter as much that the Cullens were more complicated than I'd first thought or that I had an unexpected, pre-existing history with the coven leader. Here, in the darkness, it was just Bella, just me. I even liked to think that I'd become her protector now; I protected her from her dreams, if nothing else.

"Edward…" Bella puffed out a sigh and snuggled her face into her pillow. Her hair further tangled with the motion, curling and twisting into nested, brown little knots around her head. So beautiful.

She stirred again, this time shuffling nearer to the edge of the bed. I shook my head and held back a laugh. One more shuffle, and I'd be keeping her from falling to the floor. I smiled as I rubbed her back in gentle, slow circles. Bella's legs straightened out, in turn, her sloping calf muscles twitching and stretching.

Her tongue slipped past her teeth and licked at her parted lips, leaving behind a sheen of wetness. Before I even aware of my actions, my face was close to hers; I was staring, mere inches away from her nose, breathing in each of her breaths, playing with fire. I needed to hunt again, so the burn was more potent, but it wasn't her blood I craved. I licked my lips, just as she had, and wished I could somehow be even closer, that I could crawl into bed, beneath the sheets, and twine my limbs with hers.

I imagined taking her in my arms, pulling her body flush to mine. Our contact would keep her nightmares at bay and free me from my haunted past. She would touch me gently, shyly, but then I imagined her leaning in with a wicked smile before going for a heat-filled kiss. I maybe couldn't give her heat in the most literal sense, but I could make the kiss good, so long as I was careful, so long as I could overcome other, baser desires. It would be a challenge, I was sure. I'd only kissed a few humans in my time, and none as delectable as Bella. Their fragility had always unnerved me.

But then, fearful as I was of Bella's frailty and wondrous scent, I was finding that I selfishly wanted her mouth even more sometimes. I'd thought about kissing her many times since we'd met. I wanted to press her lips to mine, curl my tongue against hers and make her moan. I didn't want it to stop there, either.

I wanted to see her naked, not just imagine it as she showered in the downstairs bathroom. I wanted to touch and kiss her breasts, rest my face against the pounding heart that had come to make all my decisions for me. I wanted to slide down her warm body and open her legs—not for the femoral artery, as I'd cruelly done to so many other women, but for Bella's pleasure, for mine. I'd make her—_us_—forget everything else, even if only for a little while.

Then I could move back up her body and hold back her knees as I slid inside the warm, wet channel of her body. There'd be no frenzy between us, at least not at first; it wouldn't be blind and raw and snarling, as my experiences with vampires had been. It would be slow and intensely sweet, an uphill climb and a freeing fall toward the same destination.

I'd lean over her, kiss her as we melded into one form of warm and cool, cream-rose and pale-gray. Always mindful of my strength, I'd use feather-light pressure while running my hands up her thighs, along her hips and sides, over her breasts, and up to cradle her neck and face. I imagined her liquid brown eyes staring up at me, trusting and passionate. Would Bella moan loudly or softly? It didn't matter. I'd love sounds or silence from her. She would be mine, and that would be all that mattered.

"I love you," I would say.

I snapped out of the fantasy and ripped my hand away from Bella's back. I moved away from the bed, my hands fisted at my sides.

_Love_?

Staring at Bella's relaxed, sleeping features, I placed a hand over my still heart. I could swear that it was beating… No, not just beating—thundering, rushing, racing. It reminded me of the last moments of the transformation, when my heart galloped to the finish line, pumping venom through its valves. Perhaps this time I was coming alive, rather than dying.

_Love_?

I couldn't possibly love her, and she would never see me as someone worthy of love. The pain that realization brought with it was almost too much to bear.

Creatures weren't _really_ capable of this human emotion, were they? Humans weren't capable of loving creatures like me. But as I looked at the curled up woman before me, I knew. I could at least speak for myself, as it seemed so obvious now. I _loved_ her. I loved how she was too observant for her own good, how she was forgiving and faithful, sweet and selfless. I loved how she never seemed to fear me, even though she should. I perhaps, just very slightly, even loved that she challenged me.

Carlisle was forgotten for the night. _Everything_ was forgotten, but one fact. _I was in love with Bella._ Nothing else mattered more than that. Suddenly, everything aligned and made sense, warmed me to my very being. I could never leave her now. I would stay and guard her life as if it were my own. I returned to her bedside and marveled at the feelings coursing through me, at how I once again felt my world changing, all because of Bella.

It was simple. She was my life now.


	11. Measured on the Scoville Scale

**_Author's Notes (October 3, 2010):_**_ Thanks as always to **duskwatcher2153** and **Aleeab4u**._

**_Chapter pic: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm11-pic_

**_Chapter music: _**_bit(dot)ly/sotpm11-music (Really, just crank up Bon Iver and Horse Feathers.)_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 11: MEASURED ON THE SCOVILLE SCALE**

* * *

_"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."_

_From "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
As I wiped crumb-covered tables, I stared out the restaurant windows. Rain pelted down in windblown sheets, gathering in puddles in the dips and grooves of the concrete parking lot. October had begun, and along with silly, ghoulish Halloween decorations, it brought rain and colder temperatures.

"So lover boy decided not to visit today?" Judy asked as she cleared a table beside me. It was a little after nine o'clock on Thursday night, and Hal's was empty, save for one couple seated in a corner of the restaurant. They were so busy staring all lovey-dovey at each other that they'd never finish dinner before we closed.

I blushed at Judy's words. "I guess he was busy." I looked over at her, then. "I didn't ask him to visit on Monday, you know. He just…shows up." _Everywhere. All the time. To distract me and make me want to rip his clothes off._

"It's all good. He can come here whenever he wants." She sighed, almost dreamily, and her hand paused on the table she was cleaning. "Quite the looker, that one—a charmer, too." Judy shook her head and grinned a little. I snickered and grinned back. It was shocking to see a genuine smile come from Broomhilde, but then if anything could make a woman smile, I had to admit that it'd probably be Edward.

This week had been surreal, where he was concerned. After meeting Charlie last Sunday and following me back to Port Angeles, Edward had left me on my doorstop with an annoyingly virtuous kiss to my forehead. I'd decided then that whatever I'd hoped was happening between us was, in fact, just friendship. After all, no guy who was really interested in you only gave forehead kisses. It made sense, really. Mousy, short girls with shitty jobs and equally shitty prospects didn't get tall, sexy _and_ gentlemanly _musical geniuses_. It was a fact in some book. I was sure of it. My type was probably lucky if she got a committed, employed man who kept his hair into his thirties.

I'd had a date with some fattening cookie dough ice cream and had considered it all said and done on the relationship front. I even told myself that it was for the best, that I didn't need anything else taking up my time. I cared deeply for Edward, in ways I could barely understand, and decided that so long as he was around, in whatever capacity, I would be happy—begrudgingly, perhaps, but still happy. Content. _Okay_.

Then Monday had rolled around to knock me on my ass. If I'd thought Edward was confusing and stalker-ish before, it was only because I hadn't really seen anything yet. He'd surprisingly shown up at Hal's right at the start of my lunch break and took me down to the pier for lunch and to walk Lucky, who he'd brought with him.

He'd seemed like a different person that day, like something had been righted in his life. His smiles were easy, relaxed. I wanted to ask him what had changed, but I was hesitant. Edward didn't like talking about himself much. He seemed to think he distracted me when I asked questions, but I was aware of most of his diversions. I knew better than to try.

Edward left me that day with a kiss on the cheek. Lucky had left me with an attempted leg hump. At least _someone_ had obvious feelings.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I was at Books & News, and Edward showed up yet again. He seemed to know my whole work schedule, erratic as it was in this little tourist trap town.

He brought me lunch both days, and while I ate, he read _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ to me in a series of in-character voices. I had laughed so much that my cheeks hurt by the time he'd left.

Though he never said anything about it, I thought the book was maybe his way of apologizing for the way our first date had ended. If so, it was a highly ironic olive branch he extended. How many times had I read _Pride and Prejudice_ as a girl?

I had to admit, though, that Austen was infinitely better with the inclusion of zombies. Maybe I'd just changed over time. I'd been such a romantic idealist in the past. What scared me was it felt like part of that girl was resurfacing her stupid little head, whether there were zombies in what I was reading or not. Monsters didn't seem to scare her away.

On Tuesday, my other cheek received a kiss. It was wonderful and sweet and _fucking frustrating_. Then yesterday it had been all I could do to keep still when Edward had cupped my face in his cool hands and leaned in…

And leaned in some more…

To kiss the left corner of my mouth. _The fucking corner!_ _Who even _does_ that?_ I thought he was toying with me until we separated and I got a good look at him. Dark-eyed and breathing heavily, as if we'd had a _marathon_ of kisses, he'd pulled away and given me a small smile that seemed mysteriously apologetic. I didn't want apologies, though. I'd tried to lean in again, but he'd turned away, rejecting my advances. _That_ had sucked royally.

Did he or didn't he want me? If we were working up to something—whatever that something was—I was getting tired of the journey through the labyrinth.

It worried me that he hadn't come to see me today. I'd had my eyes on the windows all day long—waiting, hoping, _longing_. Had I been too pushy with the kiss? Surely not. It wasn't like I was trying to unbuckle his belt and nab his likely long-gone virtue. (I'd so far only had that sort of courage in last night's dream—which was _amazing_ and _completely unrealistic_, even by _Kama Sutra_ standards.) More than anything, though, I'd just missed _him_, his company and strangeness and humor. I hadn't even read our book—or eaten lunch. My stomach reminded me of that fact with an angry growl.

I yawned loudly and tried to hide it against my shoulder as I wondered whether I should call him when I got home. I was unbelievably tired. Thursdays were my hell days. I started with an early morning shift at the bookstore and ended with an evening shift at Hal's. I worked over twelve hours on Thursdays, not including the time it took me to get to and from places. It was a lucrative day for me, but I was dead on my feet by the end of it.

When I yawned for the third time, Judy reached over and grabbed the cloth I was using to clean tables. "You look beat, Swan. Go on home."

"I've got another half hour."

She shrugged. "The place is dead tonight, and besides, I don't want you to have a wreck on the way home. That's the kind of shit that would end up on my conscience. With all this rain, it's not like anyone else is going to show. Your tips are sorted for the night. Just head out."

I looked outside again. "I _am_ really tired… If you're sure it's okay…"

"I'm sure. Get your ass outta here, Swan. At least you don't have a shift tomorrow."

I nodded and thanked her before I gathered my things from the back and made my way to the front door. Judy didn't know I worked a second job at Books & News. My shift there tomorrow didn't start until the late afternoon, but I still wished it was a day off for me, like she thought it was. Working six days a week and traveling on Sundays wasn't easy, and as one month bled into another—and especially now that there was _no_ hope for my father—I felt worse and worse. It took some effort, but I managed to push these thoughts out of my mind.

Thinking about shit didn't _change_ anything.

Of course, earlier in the day, before the downpour had begun, I'd parked ages away in some lousy bid for easy exercise as a clumsy person. By the time I made it to my car, I was soaked to the bone and freezing. I jumped in, turned the heating to max and grabbed Edward's jean jacket from the backseat.

I sat for a moment, watching the dark night through the rhythmic _clunk-whirr_ of my windshield wipers. I'd been waiting for Edward all day, and I still kept thinking he'd show up out of nowhere, as he so often did. I was so aware of his presence when we were together, and there were times I thought I _felt_ him, even when he wasn't around. It was that prickly, electric feeling you get when you think someone's watching you. But I never saw him during those times. That was _just_ a feeling, probably a silly one born from reading too many fanciful romance novels when I was younger.

Shaking my head, I hugged Edward's jacket closer. My teeth were chattering as I made my way home.

When my house came into view, there were three cars parked in the driveway. Beside Angela and Lauren's vehicles was a shiny, black Audi I'd recognize anywhere now—which was really saying something about Edward himself, considering I didn't give a shit about cars, beyond the price of gas.

He'd shown up unannounced, after all.

My heart raced furiously as I parked beside his fancy car. _What's he doing here?_ His being here, being inside my home, was new territory for us. He'd not even come inside last Sunday when I invited him. He didn't know Angela and Lauren, either, though I'd told them plenty about him, and they'd seen him briefly at The Rosebud before he ran out.

I sucked down a deep breath to calm my nerves before I laughed at how ridiculous I was being. "It's not like he's waiting inside to have his way with you," I muttered to my reflection in the rearview mirror. I was flushed, even in the darkness, clearly excited.

_Imagine if he _was_ waiting for you…_

I laughed at myself again as I carefully navigated the slippery driveway with unsure feet. The front door was unlocked, and I entered quietly to the soft, mellow sounds of some folk song I didn't know. It sounded indie. It definitely wasn't Angela or Lauren's music. "Guys?" I called out.

From the kitchen, Lauren yelled more loudly than was necessary. "In here!" I heard Angela's sweet, girlish giggle and water running in the sink.

I kicked off my sneakers before making my way through the living room. I don't know what I expected to find in the kitchen, but it wasn't _this_. For a moment, my eyes were only for Edward.

Tall and lean, he stood with his back to the kitchen entryway, one of our garish, blue dishtowels thrown over his shoulder. Though he didn't say anything, I saw the way his head drifted sideways, as if he was aware of the very moment I entered the room.

A heavy, enticing aroma was coming from where he stood. He was in front of the stove, cooking it seemed, in his light gray button-down and dark jeans. His feet were bare, and his hair was disheveled, as always. I finally took notice of Angela and Lauren from where they stood beside him, facing me with giant, almost mischievous grins on their faces.

Lauren silently nodded toward the breakfast table.

It was an old, rickety thing we never used that we'd been talked into buying for twenty bucks at some old codger's garage sale when we first moved to Port Angeles, but tonight it was simply and elegantly transformed with a white tablecloth. Set on the center of the table was a thin glass vase which held a yellow, funnel-shaped flower. Even over the scent of whatever was cooking, I could smell the blossom's sweet freshness from where I stood. "What is—"

Angela interrupted me. "Edward came over to make you dinner."

"Edward?" My voice was soft and quiet.

He was slicing peppers on a cutting board, but stopped to look at me over his shoulder with one of those crooked grins that made me melt. His eyes were bright and golden as he answered. "I told you I like to cook."

"But he's _still_ a man," Lauren added dryly, rolling her blue eyes. "He isn't _that_ great in the kitchen. We're leaving him to handle the pasta sauce. We _think_ he can do that himself." Despite her words, she was still smiling. I heard Edward's low chuckle. It sounded slightly embarrassed, and I wondered just how much trouble he'd had in the kitchen—or with Lauren, for that matter.

I was happy, though. My friends seemed to approve of Edward. I wasn't even around for the process, but it all seemed to have worked out. "_Wait_," I said, suddenly realizing Lauren's words, "you're leaving?"

Angela nodded, her smile morphing into a smirk. "We are."

_Holy shit_. I felt my eyes widen as my heart went into overdrive. I was going to be alone with Edward. In my home. I was assaulted with hopeful fantasies. It was like I was seventeen again and battling crazy hormones.

"We were just heading out, actually," Lauren said too casually. "We didn't even think you'd see us. You're home early."

I nodded dumbly, still stuck on the fact that Edward and I were about to be alone, in private. I only wished I was as confident in reality as I was in my head.

Angela came toward me and hugged me. She was so much taller than I was that it was a little awkward, trying to avoid being in her boobs and all. We worked it out, though. She whispered in my ear, "Have fun. We'll be back late. And you're right—he's really sweet." She squeezed me tighter, and I whispered my thanks. Her brown eyes were shining as she pulled away.

Lauren's smile had fallen a little as she looked between me and where Edward was cooking. I knew she didn't like leaving me alone with a guy, but she was trying not to show it. I gave her a reassuring smile, and she nodded sheepishly. "Have fun," she whispered simply before leaving the room with Angela. It spoke volumes about Edward that she didn't exit with some defensive, catty remark.

When I heard the front door shut, I spoke. "You didn't have to do this, you know," I said, feeling a little overwhelmed. Edward had a way of doing that to me.

With his back still to me, he shrugged as he put chopped, red peppers into a small pot. A heavenly, spiced scent was wafting up from it. "I know," he answered, "but I wanted to. Thursdays are long days for you."

I leaned against the counter opposite him, watching him work as I bit at my lip. It felt weird and _right_ to have him here with me, doing domestic things. It made him seem normal, less like the unattainable Greek god I'd met a few weeks ago. Here, in my kitchen, it felt like he could be mine.

_Getting ahead of yourself…_

"How'd you know Thursday was my long day?"

"You mentioned it once," he said.

I didn't remember discussing my work schedule with him, but perhaps we had. I only remembered half of our phone conversation from last Saturday. Even when I was awake these days, my head wasn't always on the present.

"So this is why you didn't visit me today?" I asked shyly.

He looked over his shoulder again. "Were you _expecting_ me, Bella?"

_Way to look desperate._

I stumbled over my words. "Well, uh, maybe—I mean, you've been coming to see me every day. I just thought—"

He chuckled lowly. "I was planning to, but I decided to surprise you here, instead. I hope that's all right. Hopefully you didn't go to _McDonald's_ before coming home."

"Um, no." I laughed as he began buttering dinner rolls. He went about it very…thoughtfully. Each roll was sliced perfectly, and two scrapes of butter were smoothed over both halves. "Just so you know, I usually don't like surprises," I said. Although, I was beginning to think that Lauren and Angela's surprise bed and breakfast trip for my birthday was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

"Do you like _this_ surprise?" Edward asked. He sounded unsure.

"Yes," I said simply, honestly. "I can't remember the last time someone made _me_ dinner."

Turned sideways to me, I could see his frown. "Why's that?"

"Well," I started with a laugh, "it was _safer_ for me to make dinner than allow Renée in the kitchen. She liked to be…_creative_ with her cooking, and there was that one time with the kitchen fire… I was eight and just barely got to that one fast enough." His frown deepened, but he didn't speak, and so I continued.

"As soon as I could handle stuff, I did. And then Charlie, he never cooked. He lived off pizza or diner food before I moved in. I was worried he'd have a heart attack if I didn't feed him better." I laughed bitterly, realizing how pointless my efforts had been, at least in terms of his health. He could have eaten greasy pizza every day, and it wouldn't have stopped lung cancer. "Then Angela and I used to take turns. Lauren hates cooking. I'm pretty surprised you even got her to help you. But we all have really different schedules this year. We just eat whenever." I shrugged. "I've always cooked."

"I could cook for you when you like," Edward said. Biting my lip, I forced myself to look away as he bent over and put the dinner rolls in the oven. "You only need tell me," he continued. "My schedule is very flexible."

It was a sweet, generous offer I'd never take him up on. I smiled and slowly walked toward him. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened strangely, his muscles locking up, hard like rocks, before he finally relaxed. "Thank you," was all I said.

He placed the spoon he'd been using on a rest and turned around then. His expression was soft as he finally regarded me in full for the first time since I'd entered the kitchen. "You're wearing my jacket."

"Oh." I'd forgotten to take it off at the door. I looked down as a blush lit up my face. I was sometimes like a fucking Christmas tree around this man. Awkwardly, I started to shrug out of the jacket. "You should really take this back." I didn't want him getting cold, what with his circulation problems.

Edward brought his hands up to cover mine along the edge of the jacket, where I was pulling it off. He slid it off my shoulders slowly, intimately, his fingers brushing over my shoulders and arms. I could feel his icy touch, even through my sweater. My heart thudded as our eyes locked. His were golden, deep and wise. Mine just felt wide. We seemed to be having a silent conversation, but I wasn't sure what either of us was saying. I wasn't sure I cared. It was just us in that moment.

My skin was alive under his barely-there touch, and I was supremely aware of the fact that we were alone in a house that was quiet, save for the soft background music and the boiling contents on the stovetop.

Once the jacket was off, he folded it and handed it to me. "Keep it. I have others, and I like this better on you, anyway." His eyes were smiling, crinkling at the corners.

"It's _huge_ on me." I laughed, but I was silently happy that he didn't want it back. It smelled like him, like something warm and intoxicatingly sweet.

He shrugged. "It still looks good on you, but then everything does."

I rolled my eyes at him in a poor attempt to distract him from the fact that I'd turned red again. He went back to cooking, a lopsided grin on his face.

* * *

The penne on my plate looked and smelled amazing. Its orange-red sauce was accented with hints of bright green parsley and black specks of ground pepper. Softly cooked red and green peppers were buried in the pasta. A toasted wheat roll sat on the edge of the plate.

"I hope you'll like it," Edward said as he sat across from me. His posture was straight and stiff as he watched my every move.

I smiled at him, trying to ignore how nervous and self-conscious he made me when he stared like that. "I'm sure I'll love it."

I took a bite of the pasta, and the taste that hit my tongue was nothing short of magnificent, a savory masterpiece. Until it got spicy—very, _very_ spicy. I swallowed hard and quickly took a swallow of the Coke he'd given me.

Edward was watching me anxiously, like a schoolboy waiting to hear what his parents thought of his latest report card, and I just couldn't make him feel bad. He had put so much effort into this—into meeting and getting to know my friends without me, into making me a sweet, romantic dinner.

"It's wonderful," I said, my voice barely even. At least my eyes weren't watering. Yet.

My words were exactly what Edward wanted to hear. His whole face brightened; his brows relaxed. It was like I'd given him a trophy. I watched in fascination as he eagerly shoveled a whole mouthful of pasta into his mouth, followed closely by another.

I didn't think I'd ever seen Edward eat anything _eagerly_, but he did now, a smile on his face. The spice didn't seem to register with him at all as he sped through his food, hardly chewing at all. _A real man's man_, Charlie would call him. That's what he said of those who could suffer through hot sauce and chili peppers better than he could. It was a surprisingly short list of people.

Carefully, I took another bite. It was slow going, but so long as I only ate tiny bites and tempered it with Coke and bread, it didn't kill me. I could only hope that this wouldn't turn my stomach into the next Chernobyl.

"How's your music going?" I asked conversationally.

Edward paused in his food shoveling. "It could be better," he muttered.

"Uninspired?"

He grinned slightly. "Oh, I'm very inspired, but it's not the right kind of inspiration for the music I need to compose."

"The right kind? What do you mean?" Would my list of questions surrounding this man ever come to a stop?

"Well, as you so perceptively noted the first time we met, my music is 'sad.'"

My brows furrowed. "Is it a bad thing to compose something that _isn't_ sad?" I remembered the beautiful melody he'd played at The Rosebud, the one he'd hummed to me on the phone. That wasn't sad, and it was beautiful.

He pushed a piece of penne around his plate. The fork squeaked quietly on the dish. "It's about the stories behind the pieces. It seems—" He paused thoughtfully. "It seems _inappropriate_ to make light of them." His eyes flickered up to my face before looking back at his food.

Ah, so this was another something locked away. I mulled over his words for several long seconds. I knew he probably wouldn't give me a straightforward answer, but I had to try. "You never did tell me. What are the stories behind your music?"

As I expected, he froze up—quite literally. He was eerily still, a statue of a man with a fork in its hand. It was all so postmodern.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You don't have to tell me."

"It's just very personal," he whispered. "They aren't _good_ stories, Bella."

I sighed. "Do you think you'll ever let me figure you out?" I asked with a weary smile.

His body relaxed, his shoulders slouching just a little. "I don't think you'd like to know everything about me," he said, and his eyes were sad.

"We can't know that unless you tell me. I'm probably more accepting than you think." Between my upbringing with Charlie and Renée, I couldn't help but be.

Reaching across the small table, he took my hand in his. Cold as his touch might be, it was also incredibly comforting. "I don't want to dwell on the past when I'm with you. Isn't it enough to spend time with me here, now?"

And so our dancing around his past, around truths I'd eventually need to know, continued.

I squeezed his fingers. "Yeah. Enough for now." He frowned at me, and I shrugged in response. Did he really think I'd give up on this? It wasn't in my blood to do so. One day, and I hoped it'd be sooner than later, I'd solve the mystery that was Edward Masen.

With wandering thoughts, I picked up my fork again and took another bite of my pasta. Unfortunately, this bite was far too large. The spice hit the back of my throat and burned like hell. I tried to quickly swallow it all, but that only made it worse. My whole mouth was on fire, and then my throat joined in on the pain.

"Bella?"

Distantly, I could hear the concern in Edward's voice, and I was sure I was red, but there was no way I could answer him in that moment. I could feel sweat gathering at my brow as I fumbled for my glass of Coke, which I of course knocked over like some knuckle-dragging idiot that hadn't evolved proper motor skills.

Lightning fast as ever, Edward snatched it up as it was tumbling sideways. "Bella, what's wrong?" His eyes were frantically shifting left to right as he looked me over.

I fanned my mouth as I grabbed for the Coke again, and he seemed to finally understand. Frowning, he handed the glass over, and I drank greedily, hoping to put out the flames. It took stealing Edward's glass of Coke to finally cool the worst of it.

"I've hurt you," he said morosely when the minor catastrophe had ended and I felt a little less like an active volcano. "I can't even make dinner for you."

"Hardly," I said with a somewhat parched laugh. "It's just a little spicy…" And by little, I meant it felt like Satan had sublet my mouth.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

I shrugged. "It was fine." The inside of my mouth felt abnormally smooth, like all the natural ridges had been burned down by the wildfire.

"Clearly it wasn't _fine_," Edward growled. He rose from the table and took our plates to the sink. He was upset, but I wasn't sure what part had upset him—the fact that I'd not admitted that the food was too spicy or the fact that he'd made it spicy to begin with…or something else besides. Edward's moodiness could be a little difficult to decipher at times.

"Let me help," I offered as I began to get up, but he wordlessly shook his head, his jaw clenched, and I stayed where I was.

I sat awkwardly, like an alien in my own kitchen, as he cleaned dishes and pans. I thought about telling him he was too hard on himself, but I was beginning to think that we were both very stubborn people. I knew that if someone told me _I_ was stubborn or wrong—well, I just went out of my way to fucking prove that fact, whether I meant to or not.

He dried the last dish before turning and leaning against the counter. He crossed one leg in front of the other and then crossed his arms over his chest. His whole body was rigid in this closed-off stance. "You _have_ to tell me if I hurt you," he said seriously.

"You didn't—"

He gave me an incredulous glance, the one with a single, tilted eyebrow.

"Okay, it was pretty spicy," I allowed. "I just didn't want you to feel like I didn't appreciate what you did tonight, because I do." I smiled a little. "And the food really was great, so long as I didn't eat too much at once. Just, maybe next time, use less chili?"

Edward's face softened as he nodded. "Are you hungry still? You didn't get to eat much. It's late, but I suppose we could find something open…"

"I'm fine." At his annoyed glance, I amended my words. "I'm not hungry, I mean." I wasn't anymore. I didn't tell him that the fire had put out my appetite.

He uncrossed his arms and reached a hand out in wordless invitation. I quickly scrambled up, banging my knee on a table leg in the process, and went to him. He was grinning now. "What?" I asked as I took his hand.

"You're _so_ clumsy." He pulled me forward until our bodies were pressed together. His was cold and hard, but I felt warm. Part of it was probably that my face was in a perpetual state of redness around him.

"I trip on air." I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to remind me."

"It's _endearing_, even if a little terrifying," he countered, folding his hands behind me, low on my back, so that I was locked in his embrace. How we'd so easily gone from awkward brooding, to sweet happiness was almost shocking. It made me doubt that I'd ever understand this man or my feelings for him, but I was willing to stay here forever trying.

_You fucking sap._

"I wish I knew what you were thinking." He leaned into me and pressed his forehead to mine. He had a fucking hard head, too, in more ways than one.

I sighed. "That works both ways, you know."

We stared at each other again, in that awkward yet perfect way that couples do when so close to each other. I was surrounded by Edward—by his arms, by his scent. I was safe here, I knew. The world and all its problems couldn't touch me. I was invincible. _Take that, Jacob Black._

"Bella?"

"Hmm?" I was half lost in his scent.

"Have you always blushed like this?"

"Yes, but you make it worse."

He grinned crookedly. "Good. It's lovely, you know."

His hands slid up my back and over my shoulders, until he cradled my neck, and then my face. He held me so lightly that in some ways it felt more like a cool breeze or the fluttering of a butterfly's wings on my skin than hands. Back and forth, his thumb brushed over the puffy scar on the right side of my face. Instinctively, I tried to turn my face away from him, but he held me in place and met my gaze head on; I shut my eyes tightly against his intensity. He was so unfairly, perfectly sculpted, and I…_wasn't_.

With my eyes closed, I was even more aware of him, aware of the way his oddly-sweetened breath floated across my lips, of the way my whole face was numbed by his chill, as if I'd walked outside during the start of winter.

"Be very still," he suddenly said in a low, breathy whisper.

Damned if my eyes didn't snap open then. My pulse raced. Was this going to be another kiss to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth?

I pled with my eyes, even though his had closed at some point. _Please, please, please_. 

I didn't have to wonder or wait for long as Edward's lips pressed against mine without further hesitation. I sucked in a loud breath against him, and despite his request for me to remain still, my hands came up, unbidden, to tangle in his soft hair. The kiss was delicious and heady, better than I expected.

His lips were firm, like the rest of him, and my mouth bent and shaped to meet them. We kissed unhurriedly, carefully. It was so much like my first kiss—a little fearful, a lot wonderful—but it was also all-encompassing, erasing every kiss that had come before it. Everything paled next to _this_, which felt so _right_ it hurt and burned in my chest.

It was the best kind of hurt.

I _needed_ to be closer and pushed myself into his granite body, even as I pressed my tongue against his mouth. He tasted amazing, and I wanted more. Words were chanted in my head. _Let me, let me, let me._

But just like that, Edward met one of his mystifying limits and transformed into unmovable stone. The kiss came to an abrupt stop, and he gently pushed me away until a few inches separated us. At least this time he still held me.

It was enough, I decided. It had to be.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Sorry," I breathed. I felt flushed, a little wild around the edges. _Why do we have so many clothes on? _I was sure most modern couples got further _much_ faster than we were. Why weren't we doing it on the kitchen floor like all those normal twenty-year-olds in the movies? I wanted that.

Edward was breathing shallowly, his nostrils flaring with each inhalation. Beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights, his eyes appeared darker than usual.

After a moment, his erratic breathing slowed, and he slid his right hand down along the curve of my neck, until he came to a stop on my chest, agonizingly _above_ my breast, but over my heart. He pressed his palm there firmly, and I felt the chill of his skin seep into my sweater. I wondered how well he could feel its beating. To _me_, it felt like it was going to pop out of my chest any minute now, all ghastly like the chestburster in _Alien_.

"You have no reason to be sorry," he said. "_I_ am sorry—more than you know."

I saw the darkness threatening to cage him, as so often happened in the aftermath of our more revealing moments. My arms were still around his neck, and I gripped him tightly, as if I could hold him in place, in this happier moment, in the kiss that felt like it'd changed everything for the better. "Don't," I answered, my voice more authoritative than I felt.

_Don't ruin this._

Edward's eyes stayed on mine as he nodded slowly.

"It's okay. Just spend time with me. Please don't run."

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, his eyes once again sincere and warm, and I let out a small, relieved sigh.

I let my hands rest along his jaw, where tiny hairs pricked at my fingertips. I slowly moved forward, making sure he understood my intentions. He didn't stop me as I placed a simple, chaste kiss on his lips. "Thank you," I said.

* * *

With a lone lamp warmly glowing, we sat on the lumpy couch in the living room and tried to watch television, but neither of us seemed to be paying any attention to the screen. I didn't know what was on Edward's mind, but my head was still in the kitchen, replaying our kiss. I had no idea what we were watching.

"What are we?" I blurted out all of a sudden. Was it _possible_ for me to be any more awkward?

Edward muted the television and looked down at me, amused. "Pardon?"

_Oh, God. I'm going to have to spell it out._ "As in, are we _together_?"

"Is that something you want?" His face was expressionless. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely asking or if he was being a bastard and enjoying making me stumble over my own words.

"Well, I don't go around kissing just _anyone_." Only Jacob, and now Edward.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Okay then." I felt my lips purse in a firm line. It didn't look like he'd be elaborating, and now I just felt like an idiot.

Smiling slightly, he brushed hair from my face before leaning forward and kissing my temple. It made me feel less catty. Actually, it seemed to make me forget _everything_ for a moment. Since our kiss, he seemed much more relaxed about touching me. It was nice and frustrating, all at once. And confusing. Everything about Edward was, though.

He spoke softly. "I know I may not always make much sense to you," he said, as if reading my mind, "but please know that you're _very_ important to me."

I stared at my hands and chewed on the inside of my mouth. His words were sweet, but I needed more to go by, like a flashing sign smacked repeatedly against my head. I wanted to make sure I wasn't making a fool of myself. Not again.

"_Girlfriend_ important?" I asked after a moment of thought, hating how silly it sounded, as if I was in high school again. All we were missing was gossip queen Jessica Stanley and note passing in Biology class.

"Hmm," Edward hummed near my ear. "That's such a flippant expression to this generation. I think much more highly of you than that. So, something more?"

"You really like me, then."

He laughed against my hair. "I really do."

Well, _that_ was much more forthright than I'd ever expected him to be. My heart swelled at his words. No one had ever spoken to me like that. Jacob and I had had our moments of teenage tenderness, our whispered promises amid fumbling touches, but they'd never been like _this_. "I feel the same way," I said, just barely skirting around the three words that yet petrified me. But I knew they were there, in my mind, on my tongue, just waiting to be set free.

"You don't know how happy that makes me." I heard the smile in his voice.

I leaned into his side more heavily and rested my head back on the arm he'd stretched out along the back of the couch. It was like leaning against a brick wall, and I still wondered what medical condition could cause such rigidity of his skin and muscles. Google had only turned up scleroderma, but that was some scary shit that I _knew_ he didn't have. I wanted to ask him about this, and so much more, but I selfishly didn't want to give up this confessional moment just yet. If there was one thing I'd learned in the last three weeks, it was that asking Edward personal questions was a quick way to not get _any_ answers.

"You've changed this week," I mused, looking him in the eye, hoping this was a safe topic.

"Unfathomably so."

"What happened?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was _you_?"

I snorted at the cheesiness of it all. "Um, no."

He flashed a smirk. "I didn't think so."

I brought a hand up to his face. I could touch him for days. His smooth skin, his sharp and angular structure, fascinated me. And somehow, against all odds, he seemed to like me, too. He'd kissed me and said I was important, _more_ than a girlfriend. I smiled at him, content for the moment, and he smiled back.

My eyelids felt cottony and heavy. I knew it was nearing midnight, if we hadn't already passed it. Once again, I found myself listening to Edward's slow, even breathing. I fought sleep, not wanting the night to end. "You seem so calm," I remarked in a tired slur.

He chuckled. "Do I?"

"It's the way you breathe." I took a deep breath myself and let it pass through my lips. He swallowed audibly. "I like it," I said, then laughed a little. "I've tried to match you a few times, but I can't. I don't know how you do it. It's like you don't even _need_ to breathe."

"Well, I do," he said with a small smile.

I smiled, too, and somehow scooted even closer to him until my forehead was resting in the crook of his neck. I curled my fingers into his shirt and turned my head a little to press a kiss against his skin. His Adam's apple bobbed beneath my lips.

"Bella?" he questioned hoarsely.

I hesitated at first, but then I thought about how nothing was set in stone, that tomorrow might never come for Edward or me or us or anyone at all. It gave me bittersweet courage to say what was in my heart. "Stay with me tonight?" I whispered.

His body stiffened. "What?"

_He doesn't want you. _"Never mind."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, is all," he said.

I nodded and tried to hold back weary tears. "Okay." I hid my face between my hair and his neck. "But do you think…"

"What, Bella?" His hand rubbed circles on my back, making me feel relaxed and sleepy, despite my emotional hurt.

"Do you think…staying one night might be something you'd want? In time?"

His fingers ran through my hair. Sometime later, he asked, "What does staying the night entail?"

"Anything," I answered without thinking. I closed my eyes in embarrassment.

I felt Edward laugh silently beneath me. "I see, and will you be content to just lie with me?"

I nodded.

"And you want tonight?"

_Every night_, I thought without hesitation. Instead, I merely said, "Yes."

He began to push me away, and I was worried that he'd decided he'd had enough of my advances and questions. But he only rose from the couch and offered me his hand. A small, reassuring smile was on his lips. "Come then."

* * *

I left Edward in my bedroom, where he signed into his email account from my laptop. It was tempting to just stand there and look over his shoulder, in an effort to learn something—anything—about him, but I left him alone and rushed through my nightly routine, eager to return to him and eager to sleep.

When I came back, clothed in the least ratty pair of sweatpants I owned, Edward was standing by my writing desk, staring down at the opened notebook that was there. His skin was bluish-white beneath the clear light work lamp I had at the desk.

I felt the wind go out of me as I anxiously tried to remember what I'd last written in the pseudo-journal I rarely had time to deal with anymore. I'd opened it up just this morning, but I couldn't remember what page I'd left it on. _Please, please, please don't let it be about him._

"Do you write?" he asked, his long fingers sliding along the open page.

"I—yes. Hey, what page is that on?"

He glanced at me with a sheepish smirk. "It was open here, but I probably shouldn't snoop, should I?"

"Probably not." I laughed awkwardly. "You might not like what you find."

"I highly doubt that. I'd love to know what you're thinking in that head of yours." He looked back at the notebook, and I watched his brows come together. "_We're all immortal until we die_," he read.

_Ah, quotes. _I sighed in relief. That was fairly safe territory, minus a couple of words of wisdom from Anaïs Nin I'd put down, but she was many pages away from the one he was on. He was in the rather depressing section.

"I've been collecting quotes from famous people and books," I explained. "About life…and death."

Edward studied me. "The Percy Shelley poem—_Music, when soft voices die_?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Because of Charlie?" he asked.

I nodded again. "I have a eulogy to consider in time," I said stiffly. "And, well, it's the only way I can process everything that's happening. I'm not religious. I mean, there might be something out there, but I don't know. I don't think there is—not in my life, at least. I think when we die—I think we're _just_ gone." Like plants and animals, like dying suns and collapsing universes.

Forever and ever and ever.

Edward stared at me with caring, cautious eyes. "I know it's not comforting, but we all have to lose our parents at some point. It's the order of things, the balance of nature—if everything goes right. Parents pass. Children live. I don't know your father very well at all, of course, but he loves you. That much I know for certain. He wants you to flourish."

"Yeah, but Charlie shouldn't _die_ at _forty-five_. That's not how it's supposed to work, either. I was expecting another forty years with him. I was expecting…_time_. There was so little to begin with; I was _always_ with Renée. And now…" I shook my head. "You don't know what it's like," I accused. "Seeing your dad die, it's _horrible_."

He looked away from me then, back to my notebook. His face was eerily emotionless. "I do know." He spoke so softly that I wasn't sure I heard him.

"What?"

"My parents. They're dead," he said more loudly, in an aloof, matter-of-fact tone.

_Oh, fuck._

The blood rushed from my face so quickly that I felt like I might faint. "Edward, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that. I just… Oh my God, I'm so stupid. I just _assumed_ they were alive." I wrung my hands together. "We're just so young. I didn't think—"

"It's fine, Bella. It was a long time ago." Even if it was, I could tell it still hurt him. His calm, almost tough exterior was a front. I knew it well, because it was my Port Angeles façade.

"How did they die?" I whispered.

"My father died first, then my mother. They were both very ill." His eyes were distant, as if he was off elsewhere, reaching back into his past to retrieve memories of his parents' faces.

"Sick, like you are?" I held my breath, afraid of what his answer might be.

His eyes left my notebook to rest upon me again. He gave me a soft smile. "No. My health conditions are different from theirs."

I stepped closer to him and reached up to place a hand to the side of his face. "You have to tell me," I said in a small voice. "Are you very sick?" My heart hammered in my chest.

He echoed his words from earlier. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me." It was stupid to ask for a promise, when nothing in life was certain, but I wanted it anyway.

"I promise. As I've said, for as long as you will have me, I'll be here." He leaned forward and pressed his cool lips to my forehead. This kiss was distinctly different from the one shared in the kitchen, and even those on the couch. I found comfort in its simplicity.

"I really am sorry."

"It was a long time ago." It was barely there, but I heard the crack in his voice.

I nodded, acquiescing that—of course—he didn't want to talk about it.

We stood in silence for a moment, caught in our own thoughts before I grabbed his hand. "Do you want to sleep?" I asked, nodding toward my double bed. I didn't look away from him as the blush rose to my face. Innocent as things would be, I'd never had a boyfriend stay the night. With butterflies in my stomach, I climbed into bed.

Edward climbed in beside me, fully-clothed.

"You're not going to be comfortable that way," I complained. _Maybe he sleeps in the nude usually…_ Now I was fucking beet red.

"I'm fine. Just go to sleep, Bella."

"At least take your shirt off."

Beet red. Very, very beet red.

He sighed. "All right, but my pants are staying on."

Unable to look him in the eyes, beet red.

"Yeah, okay," I muttered distractedly and plopped down to my pillow. I turned away from him and listened to the shuffle of his shirt as he removed it. It fell to the floor quietly. The bed shifted as he lay down. It took everything in me to not turn around and ogle him.

Several minutes passed, and my face finally cooled against my pillow. I complained, "This is awkward."

The bed shook with Edward's soft laughter. "Do you want me to leave for the night?"

"No," I grumbled. "Just the opposite. I don't want you so far away." I reached behind me, beckoning him nearer in the small bed.

He clasped my hand in his and shuffled until his chest was against my back. The coldness of his skin was shocking through my sleep shirt, but I welcomed it. Beneath the sheets, our bodies still had a distance between them. "Better?" he asked against the back of my neck as he brought our hands over my front, to rest across my stomach.

I shuddered. "Yes."

"Rest, Bella." I felt his kiss on my neck. "I'll be here when you wake."

I sighed contentedly and shut my eyes. "Thank you for tonight. And for finally kissing me."

"Anytime." He sounded happy, too.

I wanted to ask him if he really meant that, but sleep was pulling me under. For the first time in a very long time, there were no tears at midnight.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ If anyone's unfamiliar with the term, the Scoville scale is what's used to define the "heat" level of chili peppers. American chemist Wilbur Scoville developed it, presumably because Americans love worthless trivia and so people everywhere can brag about just how spicy they can take their hot sauce. You're welcome, world._

_"Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" is a real book. It was published in early 2009, though, so I've taken some liberty with the timeline here._

_The quote "we're all immortal until we die" comes from one of my favorite urban fantasy novels, "War for the Oaks," written by Emma Bull. For the record, that book is not serious in the least, and the quote is taken completely out of context, purely to suit my needs._

_Chapter twelve is tentatively titled "Skeletons in Our Closets."_


	12. Skeletons in Our Closets

**_Author's Notes (October 17, 2010):_**_ Thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing and recommending SotPM. I'm glad you're enjoying the journey with me. That so many of you read and review is sincerely appreciated!_

_Special thanks go out to my beta **duskwatcher2153 **and pre-reader **Aleeab4u**. **Rachael1042** was also kind enough to pre-read this chapter, because it really needed more eyes on it. Finally, thanks should also be given to Frenchy ladies **mellyfrisco6** and **nowforruin**. _

**_Edward's house:_**_ bit(dot)ly/edwards-house _

**_Chapter trailer:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm-trailer (No pic this time, but a trailer.)_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm12-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 12: SKELETONS IN OUR CLOSETS**

* * *

_"Memories are forever."_

_From "The Giver" by Lois Lowry_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
_I had been running up a rocky hillside for what felt like hours. Something was behind me, right at my heels as it chased me, but I didn't know what. I was too afraid to look back. I was by myself, defenseless. It snarled and growled like a feral beast, and at times I felt its breath on the back of my neck—cold, ice cold—and forever closing in. I was inches from death._

_The steep incline made it hard to run. I was too slow. The creature neared, and the closer it got, the colder I felt. Just when I believed it was going to reach out and grab me, the terrain warped and wobbled beneath my feet, but I managed to stay upright by flinging my arms outward. I came upon a plateau and pressed onward. The beast hissed in dismay and continued its close pursuit. Neither one of us was willing to give up this fight or flight._

_In the way that all plateaus eventually do, the ground began to tilt downward. My legs buckled and shook as they tried to accommodate the abrupt and odd angles which met my feet. _

_A loud cracking clap sounded behind me, and I knew instinctively that it was the sound of teeth as the beast snapped its jaws. It was hungry, I knew. For me. _

_I had to move faster if I had any hope of surviving. "Keep running. Don't stop," became my mantra. "Don't stop."_

_I made to stretch out into a longer jump down the hillside, but I miscalculated my landing. Loose rocks rolled beneath the sneakered foot I'd aimed to land on, and I again flung my arms outward in an attempt to regain balance. It was too late, though. I fell forward, sliding on my hands and knees, which were sliced open by the slippery pebbles on the hillside. A metallic smell hit my nose. Blood. I held my breath against the scent._

_Another growl sounded behind me, its octave so low that it seemed to vibrate and come up from the earth, to push through my scraped skin and rattle my bones. Knowing there was nowhere left to run, no means for me to fight, I scrambled around on my hands and knees to look into the face of Death… _

I woke with a ragged gasp.

"_Bella_?"

Disoriented, I flinched at the sound of the voice. It took time, but my eyes slowly gained focus. I saw light first—hazy and gray from a window. Then I noticed the navy sweats on a long set of crossed legs beside me, the pale bare feet at the end of my bed. I was in my room, in Port Angeles. I was safe.

"Bella?"

I blinked and looked up as my vision fully adjusted. "Edward?" Shirtless and criminally beautiful as ever, he was sitting up in bed, his glasses propped up on his nose, a folded newspaper in his lap. My brain felt thick at the sight of him. How could someone look so good in the morning?

Gazing down at me in concern, he brought a hand to my face and brushed his thumb across my cheek. His cool touch soothed my warm and sweaty skin. I sighed and closed my eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Well, not looking at him made my thoughts clearer, at least. I let out a shaky breath and nodded. "It was just a dream—a nightmare, I guess." _Understatement._ My heart was still racing.

"You were quiet, for the most part. I didn't realize you were having a nightmare or I would have woken you," he said very seriously, as if he felt responsible for all the tricks my brain might play on me while sleeping. "Care to talk about it?"

"I wouldn't know where to start," I said with a hollow laugh. "My dreams are weird these days. To say the least." _These days… Today's Sunday. _My eyes snapped open then, and I bolted upright.

Edward's eyes were wide in alarm. "What—"

My nightmare was forgotten as I turned to him, leaning up on my knees in the middle of the narrow bed. A giant grin was on my face. "I just remembered it's Sunday." I sounded insane. "You're taking me to your place today!"

A smile lit up his face as he laughed and removed his glasses. He set them with the newspaper on my bedside table. It seemed Mr. Smarty Pants had been doing a crossword puzzle—seemed to know all the answers, too. "I promise my place isn't that thrilling," he said. "Lots of furniture—that's covered in dog hair, come to think of it." He grimaced.

"Whatever," I countered with a roll of my eyes as I slinked up to him on my knees—or, well, kind of gracelessly tumbled forward. He pulled me to him, and I smiled and rested my head in the crook of his neck as he wrapped an arm around me. I loved that there was less hesitation when he held me now.

This was my third morning with Edward, and though I'd not found the key to his elusive chastity belt—or really even had the courage to go looking for the key _or_ the belt, to be honest—mornings with him were _very_ good. It just felt right to wake up with him beside me. We were close. We were good together—_right_ together.

But I still knew so little about him—nothing of consequence.

I grinned against his neck. "I'm going to figure you out today, you know." Though my voice had a teasing quality to it, I was only half joking. Aside from maybe finding a cure for Charlie's cancer, there was nothing I wanted more than to understand Edward Masen.

He sighed and squeezed my shoulder. I felt his lips brushing along my hair as he spoke. "Some mysteries are better left unsolved, Nancy Drew."

* * *

When Charlie called on Friday to say that he and Carlisle had their own plans for today, I'd been surprised, but really happy. He'd sounded good, stronger than I'd heard him in a while. It was shocking that he felt good enough to do anything. Last month, there'd hardly been any time with him; even when I was visiting him in Forks, he was often resting, his body completely spent between pain medication and chemotherapy drugs.

I tried not to stupidly, irrationally get my hopes up now, just because he was spending a day with our family doctor and close friend. Logically, I knew Charlie was only experiencing a little energy boost since ending the chemo. He still coughed and wheezed and needed pain medication; he just wasn't as tired now, when he went through all of that. I knew the time would come, though—and sooner than I wanted to imagine—when he'd not feel well at all anymore, when we'd go from pain pills to morphine, from the recliner to a hospital bed. But for now, for this very tiny, hole-ridden pocket of time, everything was… Well, it wasn't perfect, but it was _okay_.

"So we'll go to your father's around six for dinner?" Edward asked as he pulled out onto Highway 101, as if he was aware I was thinking of Charlie. My face probably gave me away.

"Yeah, that works. Sure you don't mind coming? I don't know what we're having for dinner."

"It doesn't matter what we have," he said. He was driving with one hand, his other arm stretched out along the back of my seat. He tugged on a lock of my hair playfully. "I just like spending time with you, you know, and Charlie's nice. I'd like for him to get to know me better. There still might be a few things he didn't learn last weekend—even if he did interrogate me just short of a polygraph." He grinned.

I groaned and rubbed the heels of my hands against my eyes, as if trying to hide myself. _If I just dig into my eyeballs hard enough… "_Yeah… Still sorry about that. He really shouldn't have behaved _that_ badly."

"It's fine, Bella. I'd expect nothing less from a former policeman, particularly one who just wants to make sure his daughter is safe and happy." Edward was smiling as he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel. I wondered if he was tapping out half of a melody. He looked over at me. His voice was serious when he spoke. "I know things aren't ideal for you right now, but _are_ you happy—with me?" He looked at me steadily.

I grabbed hold of the sides of my seat. "Yes, I am," I said hastily and was rewarded with his brilliant smile. "But I'd be a _lot_ happier if you'd watch where you're going."

His face cleared then as he chuckled and turned straight. "And yet you don't complain about the speed," he mused.

I glanced at the speedometer. We were flying at just over a hundred, but in this absurdly expensive car, it didn't feel like that at all. You didn't _drive_ this sort of car down a road; you fucking _glided_. Though I knew nothing about cars, I could appreciate that, considering I'd been feeling some mysterious, not-so-good vibrations in the Honda for two months now. It was past due for its little vehicular checkup. "Well, I am hoping we don't get pulled over, but otherwise I like it. I would have hated this in the past, but after motorcycling, I don't mind speed as much."

"_Motorcycling_?" He sounded alarmed. "You don't seem the type."

I grinned. "Oh? And what type am I?"

"The book reading type," he answered. "Not the speed demon type."

I shrugged. "I haven't done it in a while."

Edward's tapping fingers stilled suddenly as he gripped the steering wheel. "Please tell me you always wore a helmet." His jaw was tight.

I lied, "Of course." _As in, yes, of course, once a Dr. Carlisle Cullen talked some sense into Jacob and me after stitching up my fucking eighteen-year-old head._ I didn't mention that part. It always made me sound like an idiot.

His fingers went back to their tapping, as if all was right with the world. "Good, good."

Using controls on the steering wheel, he switched on the stereo, and some song I was unfamiliar with began playing. Of course, he'd _have_ to be a music snob, right? Did he even _own_ any music I was familiar with?

A husky, female voice sang out in French as we traveled in companionable silence, and try as I might to divine secrets out of the lyrics, it was hopeless. I'd only taken Spanish in high school, and even that had been a chore that suggested I was destined to be one of those Americans who traveled to English-speaking countries only—if even that. At least I could order at Taco Bell.

"Can you understand what she's saying?" I asked, finally giving up.

"_Oui_," he said, and he was so smug that I would have wanted to smack him, if not for that pretty, lopsided grin. _Why does he have to be so handsome? And know French—really? Jesus. What does he see in me?_

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You're so frustrating," I said with a laugh. "Tell me what she's saying."

"It's a love song, I suppose. The woman in it feels she's been told all her life that everything is pointless, because life is fleeting; it withers just like roses do. She's been told that fate plays with us carelessly, enjoying our heartache; that we often foolishly believe happiness is within our grasp, when we shouldn't—"

"You know this is a depressing love song, right?"

"Mm, most are," he commented. "This one has a silver lining, though."

"Do tell."

"The woman has been told all these decidedly cynical things by many people, but someone else pulls her aside and tells her a secret—that _he_ still loves her. She doesn't even remember who told her this secret, but the memory that she's been told at all gives her hope. She finds meaning, in learning the secret."

I folded my arms across my chest and frowned. "That's _really_ depressing," I muttered.

"Hmm? How so?" He sounded genuinely surprised to hear I could find it anything but all flowers and puppies and lovely.

"Well, it just goes along with what everyone _else_ has told her—that fate's just playing with her, giving her false hope." I added, "If she can't even remember who told her that he still loved her, maybe no one even did. Maybe she's just stupidly _convinced_ herself that he loves her." _Am I doing that, too?_

"That's…a very different way of looking at it. I'm fairly certain you operate on a different wavelength to the rest of us."

I sunk down in my seat. "I've been told that a few times."

"It can be taken as a compliment, you know."

Edward frowned with me, and a second later the track was changed at the push of a button. Pulling his hand away from the back of my seat, he rubbed his thumb along the middle of my brow, easing the tightly wrinkled tension there.

"There. That's better," he remarked, giving me an encouraging smile. "It's only a song." His own brow was still furrowed, though.

I grinned and shook my head before deciding to mimic his action. I put my fingers to his brow, careful not to obstruct his vision of the road, and rubbed away the tension; it was difficult on his hard skin. He laughed with me, and the depressing song was forgotten. His musical laughter was a natural high for me—a hit of oxytocin that left me addicted.

As it turned out, Edward didn't live very far away—even closer, it felt, going as fast as we were. We were nearly there in fifteen minutes, as he told me once we'd turned onto a dirt road off of the 112. It was difficult to see this road, actually, nestled as it was in a deeply-shaded tangle of damp forest and fern.

"Wow. You're kidnapping me and taking me out to the woods, aren't you?" I joked.

He flashed a sideways grin. "Don't tempt me."

For some reason, I thought it was a tempting scenario, too. That couldn't be healthy.

I had no idea what sort of house Edward would live in. I could imagine it being simple and cottage-like or something fancy and ridiculous to match his car—something like the Bat Cave. Maybe even Alfred would be there.

That his home was so far off the beaten path didn't surprise me at all, though. In the little time we'd known each other, I'd already figured out that he was a bit of a recluse. I'd been surprised when he willingly met Angela and Lauren without me. He never mentioned friends, only his music and a select few of the musicians he corresponded with via email. Despite being very charismatic when he wanted to be, he was a loner, even more than I was. I suspected he might be a troubled genius of sorts, but I wasn't about to poke around for that information. It'd only draw his attention to the fact that he was hanging out with a college dropout who was just as troubled in her own right.

We made one final turn before Edward's house came into view.

_Holy shit._

"_That's_ your house—really?" I asked incredulously. I forced my mouth to close when I realized it had inelegantly dropped open.

"Uh, yes."

"It's _amazing_," I said, and Edward beamed, seemingly delighted that I approved of his not-so-humble abode.

The house, which was fucking massive for a bachelor, was an interesting mix of industrial-style concrete blocks, earthen woods and tall, clear glass windows. Rectangular structure met rectangular structure, connecting along itself like linked up building blocks. A flat roof topped it all off. The slate color of the concrete and rich, red-brown woods made the house somehow blend in and stand out all at once in the forest.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked. The house _looked_ very new, at least.

He shrugged and answered, "Not very long." He parked the car in the connecting garage and turned off the ignition. I watched as he fidgeted and quickly ran his hands through his hair.

_He's nervous_, I thought with a smile, and my heart swelled with those unmentionable feelings that still scared the hell out of me.

Ever the gentleman, Edward rushed around to my side and opened my door. "You know I can get it myself," I said with a laugh, though quietly, on the inside, I liked his quirky, old school manners. They were endearing, if nothing else. "You don't have to break your neck running to my side."

He grabbed my hand with his cold one. "Humor me. Besides, I'm just looking out for you. I'm not the clumsy one, after all," he said with that damned crooked smile. "It could very well be dangerous to leave you to your own devices with a heavy door. Who knows what trouble you could get up to?"

I held back a laugh. "Shut up. I manage just fine when we're apart." But even as I said it, I stumbled forward a little, because life's fucking ironic like that and _air's_ apparently very bumpy. Chuckling, he caught me around my waist. He always did.

We entered the house through a door in the garage. It led into the kitchen, which was all mottled, dark-honey granite, hardwood and stainless steel. It was spotless. Well, at least I could tick off slob from the list of possible secrets my reclusive Edward might have.

I heard the scraping and scratching of dog nails as Lucky rushed along the hardwood flooring of another room and laughed as he skidded around the corner into the kitchen.

The scruffy dog came bounding up to me, tail wagging so fiercely that his whole backend was twisting every which way as his paws slid along the floor. He hopped up on his hind legs and put his front paws on my stomach so unexpectedly that I would have lost my balance if not for Edward's fast reflexes, which he used to steady me against the onslaught of wet doggy kisses.

"Whoa, hey there!" I said through my laughter, cradling the dog's face in my hands.

But Edward was displeased with the behavior of his pet. Beside me, he looked down at Lucky and let out a strange, low sound from his throat; it sounded a lot like a _growl_ to me. Lucky immediately dropped down and sat. He let out a keening whimper.

Jaw slack, I stared at the yellow-haired dog, whose eyes were locked on Edward's face, his attention rapt. "Did you just _growl_ at your dog?" I was pretty sure that shit wasn't taught at training schools.

"No," Edward said, just a little too quickly—_guiltily_.

I shook my head at him and laughed, as drawn and confused by his weirdness as ever. "You _so_ did. I'm adding _dog whisperer_ to your growing list of oddities." Because, what the hell else could I do with that? I laughed some more.

He scowled.

"Don't worry." I patted his arm. "That's a pretty neat trick." _Wish I'd known it when Lucky was humping my leg._

I bent and sat on the floor in front of the dog, proceeding to scratch behind his ears. His eyes finally left Edward's, and he licked at my wrist with his warm, wet tongue. Having never had a pet of this nature or any experience with those that weren't yippy or snippy, I couldn't decide if that sort of affection was sweet or disgusting, but I went with it. He made cute grunting noises as I rubbed a spot along his jaw. "I love this dog," I said with a smile, watching in amusement as Lucky tilted his head sideways to give me a better angle.

"So do I," Edward said softly.

I looked up at him. "How old is he?"

"I'm not sure. I…rescued him, I suppose." He snorted. "I think he's four, maybe five years." His eyes became sad for some reason.

With a sigh, Lucky plopped down on the floor, his front legs sprawling at odd angles. I stopped petting him and got up with the help of Edward's hand on my elbow.

"So, what would you like to do?" Edward asked. "I can show you around, but I didn't plan for anything." He grinned slightly. "You told me not to."

I was looking at his disheveled hair. _We can fool around on your couch._ "We can do whatever, really," I said, but I did have plans. Namely, I was determined to learn at least one new, _important_ detail about Edward today. _At least one._

"All right, well, let's take the grand tour, shall we?" He glanced between Lucky and me, his nose turned up. "After you thoroughly wash your hands."

Edward's taste in décor was surprisingly good, or at least I thought so—not that I knew much about that sort of thing, having lived with a flighty mother of _changing_ taste and a bachelor father of _no_ taste. The furniture and walls were clean and sleek and neutrally colored. Potted plants stood in corners; art hung on walls, drawing one's attention with bright color; copper wire sculptures in interesting, somewhat leafy, organic shapes complemented the art. Each room had a general theme that was so subtle that it was almost difficult to place. And it all felt very…_familiar_.

We came to a stop in his living room. Dull autumnal light flowed through the floor-to-ceiling window that made up the north-facing wall. I narrowed my eyes in thought and nodded to myself, now confident in my theory. "Esme Cullen designed this, didn't she? She's Alice's mother." I'd only been in the Cullens' home once or twice, but this was very similar, and I knew Esme had a few architectural projects she handled at any given time. I didn't know how she did so much. God, it was like all of the Cullens never slept.

"You are frighteningly observant." Edward's lips bowed downward. "And, yes, she probably did design everything. I bought the house from her, but I never met her." He stared at a spot on the floor. "I was definitely surprised to meet a Cullen at Charlie's. Alice was very…_interesting_."

Huh. So the tense introductions hadn't just been a figment of my imagination. Still, they'd seemed to get along in the end. "Small world," I said. Port Angeles and Forks were tiny places; that we met in Seattle, instead of in these smaller towns, was really sort of strange, but I supposed stranger things had happened. "I've known Esme for a while now. Maybe you and I have narrowly missed meeting several times."

He breathed out a half laugh. "Possibly."

I looked at the open, wooden-slat staircase we'd stopped beside. "Upstairs now?" I asked, my foot lifting to begin the climb.

"There's nothing to see, really. It's only my room."

_His bedroom…_ Because his house was unknown territory, a place where Edward might keep all his secrets, it somehow seemed naughtier than my room, where we'd been innocently sleeping the past few nights. What might he have up there? "Oh. Okay." I bit my lip. _Think cool thoughts. Don't blush. Don't blush._

Edward had gone into his state of awkward, rigid stillness. Maybe the thought of our being in his room felt different to him, too. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" he asked. "I recently went grocery shopping." At that, his body loosened a little, and his eyes crinkled at their corners, as if he found something funny.

I glanced down at myself. I looked normal enough and didn't _think_ he was laughing at me. "Uh, just water would be great."

"I have hot chocolate," he said in his smooth, tempting voice. "I thought you might like that."

"Why didn't you say so the first time?" I teased.

Smiling, he began to walk back toward the kitchen, but not before pausing to turn on the large sound system in the room. Mildly electronic chillout music flowed out of the surround sound speakers, and I wondered if there was any style of music he didn't like. "Make yourself at home," he said, leaving the room.

In my head, I heard, _Feel free to snoop a little._

So, while Edward moved about the kitchen, I went to a bookcase that was near the magnificent ebony, concert grand piano in one corner of the room. The bottom three shelves of the bookcase held an odd assortment of books. Science books were settled against Mark Twain, Paul Laurence Dunbar and—I frowned—Shakespeare.

I found the black, one-inch-thick binders that filled all four of the top shelves to be more interesting. On the spine of each, Edward had written a number in lovely, old-world penmanship; they went from one, to sixty-six. I noticed that the forty-third binder was missing from the collection, its empty space glaringly obvious among the tightly-stuffed shelves.

Mysterious as these binders were on their own, I wanted to find out what was inside them. The devil was always in the details, after all. I reached up my hand, going for the forty-forth binder beside the empty space.

"I hope this is all right… Bella?"

I jumped and distanced myself from the bookcase. "Oh!" I breathed, holding a hand over my rapidly beating heart. "You surprised me." _And caught me red-handed._ And red-faced.

"I can see that. I'm sorry." I watched his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth. Was he angry, embarrassed? He had enough of a poker face that I could never quite tell.

"I have your hot chocolate," he said after a moment.

"Thank you," I whispered. We met each other halfway in the living room, and I took the mug from him. He'd wrapped it in a dishcloth to protect me from the scalding heat. I smiled my thanks.

We moved to sit on the khaki-colored sofa in the room. It was a long sofa, and we sat in the middle, our legs touching. I sipped my drink with slightly unsteady hands, and Edward sat stiff and straight. This silence wasn't like the silence we'd shared in the car. This was uncomfortable. It felt like a thick blanket was covering my mouth and nose, hindering my breathing.

It looked like I was going to have to start. "Sorry I was snooping," I said. "Or about to snoop."

He shrugged. "It's sheet music," he said.

"Oh. Really?" I narrowed my eyes at him, but he was looking at the floor.

"Mostly." He sighed. "How is it?"

"What?"

He looked back at me then and nodded toward the mug in my hands. "The hot chocolate."

"Oh. Oh, it's good." I smiled. I noted his empty hands. "You didn't want any?"

"I thought it best if I refrained today. I have to be mindful of what I eat and drink at times."

"I've noticed."

"I'm sure you have," he said wryly.

We were silent for several long moments again. It wasn't as suffocating now, but it still wasn't comfortable, either. Lucky wandered into the room and hopped up on the sofa, putting his head in Edward's lap, where he promptly fell asleep. The music changed into something slower, sadder.

"Why did you want to come here today?" Edward asked, his fingers running over his dog's head, back and forth, rhythmically.

I sighed and placed my half-empty mug on the glass coffee table. "I just want to get to know you better." I looked at him sideways, feeling shy. "I know the basics, like your favorite color and stuff, but I don't feel like I really know _you_. Particularly when it comes to your past." I didn't say that I thought that was maybe his intention. I also didn't express how conflicting this made me feel—to have such strong feelings for him, yet understand so little about his past or even his present.

He took a deep breath, one that seemed to say he accepted the fact that I wasn't going to let go of this. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

We started out easy, with more discussion of our interests.

"I like baseball," he said after a little prompting. Actually, it was a lot of prompting.

"Come on," I whined. "You have to give me more than that. _Tell me a story_."

He nodded, but he looked like I was telling him to walk the plank. "My father used to take me to games."

"In Chicago?"

He nodded again. "I can't tell you much of a story, I don't think. I don't remember many details about going," he said with a frown, "but I think it's what made me like baseball—the atmosphere, everyone's excitement." His nose wrinkled. "I think I liked eating Cracker Jack."

I bit my lip to hold back a grin before asking, "Because of 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame?'"

Edward snorted. "Probably. Marketing and propaganda worked quite well on me when I was a boy."

I wondered if Edward had any old photo albums. Perhaps there were pictures of him as a kid, all geared up for a game, junk food and father-son bonding time. I could just imagine him in a baseball cap, unruly tufts of hair sticking out along its edges. The thought made me smile.

"Did you ever play baseball in high school or anything?" I imagined Edward positioning himself at the batter's box, his legs bent at the knees as he made a warm-up swing.

"No," he answered, shattering my fantasies, "I ran track and field."

The fantasies returned tenfold. Now I had a vision of him in shorts, his long, muscular legs—not that I'd seen them to know for sure—stretching out beneath him as he ran in some silly, oval-shaped ring. Would I ever get to see his legs? I'd settle for sweaty in a t-shirt.

_Ha, _only_ in a t-shirt? Really?_

Maybe…

"You're blushing, Bella." Edward grinned mischievously, as if he knew exactly why I'd turned into a tomato. He nudged Lucky awake and gently shoved him off the sofa before turning toward me and leaning in close. "What are you thinking?"

"Just…stuff," I whispered, wishing I could come up with more brilliant lies.

On some level, I was aware that Edward was trying to distract me, trying to redirect the conversation, but with him invading my personal space, I was helpless before his charms. I stared at his eyes, which were a golden brown today, because I had nowhere else to look—nowhere else I _wanted_ to look.

Whenever he did this, I felt electric, like every inch of skin, every blood cell of my body was burning and standing to attention, moving toward him—waiting, _wanting_—wanting so fucking much, always more than he'd give me. He breathed across my mouth, and my eyes fluttered closed. It was completely _unfair_ how good this man smelled; he smelled good even in the mornings, when he should need a shower and toothbrush like all _normal_ people.

I felt a little dizzy, drinking in his scent. Could I get high this way? It felt like it. "What _stuff_?" he asked. If there was such a thing as sin, he held it in his voice.

I licked my lips, fully prepared to answer him in this dazed state, but we were so close that my tongue touched his mouth accidentally. He breathed out in a rush, dizzying me further, and to my surprise, he quickly bridged the gap, pressing his cold mouth to mine. I laughed into the kiss before happily diving in.

This wasn't like the kisses we shared at night before sleeping, when I was tired from work. This was deeper, wilder, almost frenzied. I pressed my tongue against his closed lips, wanting, _needing_ to consume him. He groaned in his chest and pushed me down on the sofa, his hands cradling my waist, as his tongue pushed mine back, back, back until we were both in my mouth, until he was consuming me.

I loved it. I thirsted for his taste and grabbed hold of his hair, putting everything I was into our kiss, into holding him to me. But I wanted more, because with Edward, I _always_ wanted more. A kiss never felt like enough, even though I tried to tell myself it was. I wanted more, and I was brazen in my want. I wanted to see the mad black eyes from the first time we'd met. If I just pushed him over the edge…

Mouth moving with mine, he was hovering over me, but a polite distance was still between our bodies. _Screw that._ I lifted a leg and tried to wrap it around his waist. My knee made it to his hip, my ankle to the back of his thigh, before everything fell apart.

It was like I'd thrown cold water on him.

Edward pulled away with a gasp, and my leg fell back to the side of the sofa, the rubber sole of my sneaker clapping against the floor so loudly that the sound echoed twice in the spacious living room. "Wait," Edward breathed. "We should— We need to stop. I know we need to stop. _I_ should stop."

"_I'm_ not telling you to," I argued. If he wanted _everything_ on this sofa, right now, I go along with it—very happily. Because… Well, I knew why. My heart new why as much as my body did.

"We should stop," he said again. He sounded as agonized as I felt, but I didn't know whether to believe that or not. He was rejecting me—probably just letting me down easy.

He moved to the other end of the sofa, while I stayed where I was on my back, an arm now flung across my forehead in combined sexual frustration and embarrassment. His breathing seemed to even out so easily, while I lay there for much longer, still trying to catch my breath and clear my head. My heart felt like it'd give any minute now—from crazy, overwhelming passion I'd never dreamed of feeling and the familiar ache of rejection.

_He doesn't want me that way._

_Of course he doesn't want you that way._

"You wanted to ask me questions," he said, his voice tight. Now _he_ was prompting _me_.

And, boy, did it feel like I was walking my own sort of plank.

It hurt like hell to know he'd rather play a game of twenty questions than make out with me. So much for being a more-than-girlfriend. I sighed and sat up, sitting as far away from him as possible, nursing the bitter sting. I held my knees to my chest, and we tried talking again.

* * *

I found some solace in the fact that I _did_ get to know Edward better as the day went on. He'd been an only child, a boy once fascinated with soldiers and war, much to his mother Elizabeth's dismay. He said he'd been too young for him to remember and know for sure, but he thought perhaps she taught him to play the piano, just so he'd stop spending so much time playing "Cowboys and Indians" and other potentially violent children's games. Everything he knew about the piano came from his mother and his own intuition; he'd had no formal training.

_Yep, a genius._

Edward Masen Sr. had been a lawyer. Edward wouldn't say what happened directly after his parents' deaths, or when they'd died, but he did tell me he'd lived in Portland before coming to Port Angeles.

A few hours passed as we talked, and then my stomach growled loudly enough that we both knew it was past lunchtime. Edward returned to the kitchen to make us cold cut sandwiches, and, as he didn't want help, I stayed seated on the sofa with my mixed feelings about the day. I'd thought today would go differently. After how well the last three days had gone at my house and when Edward visited me during my lunch breaks—as he still did—I'd thought we were mostly over some of the more evasive pushing and pulling.

I sighed. Apparently we weren't quite over that hump.

My eyes wandered the room as I deeply contemplated how life could sometimes suck _and_ be great, all at once, and soon my gaze settled on the bookcase again. My curiosity was sparked, and with it my sullenness improved.

I wanted to see Edward's music. It didn't matter that I couldn't read sheet music very well or that seeing the notes still wouldn't reveal the intensely secret histories behind them. I just wanted to _see_ his work, just as I had listened to it that one night at the bed and breakfast. I was drawn to it, just as I was drawn to him.

I suspected Edward might freak if he saw me looking in these binders, so knowing he'd be occupied for a little longer, I rose and quietly went toward the shelves. I stopped at the piano, though, as one binder—number forty-three, it would seem—was lying on the piano bench. Maybe this is how Edward had felt when he found my journal on my desk. It was like God himself had invited me to sneak a peek.

_Don't mind if I do._

I quietly and carefully opened the binder to the first page, which appeared to be a table of contents. Edward had handwritten it in his elegant script.

_January 12 – Louisa Sanders _

_February 12 – Richard M. _

_March 12 – Olivia ? – "Passenger on a Train" – Finished_

_March 23 – Jolene Fischer_

_March 27 – Abigail ?_

_March 30 - ? – "Unknown, Never Forgotten" – Finished_

_April 3 – Mark Vaughn – "Rosso Overture" – Finished_

_April 10 – Mary June Baker Henderson_

_April 12 – Dottie T. Watson – "Peach Tree Valley Waltz"_

_May 12 – Caroline K. Hawthorne_

The dates went on and on and on, until the final one in this table of contents, for December 12th and a woman named Peggy Macdonald.

I read and re-read.

_Dates and names_?

His music was about specific people? I looked at the bookcase. There were sixty-six of these things up there. _Wow._

I turned back to the binder and flipped past the table of contents, coming upon a plastic-sleeve insert that held handwritten sheet music. "Passenger on a Train" looked very complex, with its prominent, black music notes and smaller red notes that I'd never seen in music. The red notes were often found between the larger black ones.

"Like I said, it's mostly sheet music."

I started with a flinch. "Sorry." I refused to look up from the folder.

"I never said you couldn't look at them. Honestly, Bella, if I had any fear of your seeing my music, I don't think I'd just have it on bookshelves out in the open."

He had a point.

Finally, I glanced back at him. I expected to see anger or discomfort in his face. I don't know why I expected that. I just did. But there was no anger or discomfort. Edward had gone into lockdown mode, and his face was an eerily expressionless mask. He didn't have to be expressive for me to know this was new, uncharted territory for us, though. I was edging into a place where he held secrets, even if the general evidence of them lay out in the open.

There was a single plate on the coffee table, a sandwich on it. I hadn't even heard him bring it in. "You're not eating? You didn't even have breakfast…"

"I'm not hungry."

I nodded and made my way back to the sofa. Edward came to sit beside me. There was some sort of rock music playing on the stereo now, and he muted it. Silence fell over the room.

As I took a bite of my turkey sandwich, I bolstered myself. _Okay, you're a Swan. You can talk about this with him._ I sucked in a deep breath, and then asked my question. "Who're those people in that binder?"

Though Edward's head was bent as he seemed to examine the fists he had rested on his thighs, he was tall enough that I could still clearly see his face from the angle I sat. I'd seen darkness cloud his eyes before, most clearly on our first date, but even that time didn't hold a candle to the angry sadness that seemed to hover all around him now. It was a subtle thing, but I felt its presence. His eyes seemed old and tired, belying his strong, youngish features. He didn't answer me for a long time.

"Those are all the people I've ever—" He hesitated.

"All the people you've ever what?"

He swallowed hard enough that it was audible. "_Wronged_."

"How's that even possible? If your other binders are anything like that one, you've got to have a thousand names listed."

He winced. "It's possible, believe me."

Carefully, as if I was reaching out to a spooked animal, I brought my hand to his forearm. As hard as his skin and muscles always were, I could still feel extra tension now. I tried to massage his skin, but it was useless. It was like trying to knead a granite countertop. "Edward," I whispered, trying so hard to be soothing, "you didn't do anything to these people." I just couldn't believe that, not after he'd been nothing but kind to me.

"You don't know that."

"Then can you maybe explain it to me?"

"No," he whispered, his voice catching on the simple word. "I can _never_ tell you."

"How come?"

He snorted. "It's not even safe for you to be here now, with me. It would be even less safe for you if you knew everything."

_What the hell do I do with that?_

As we sat, I listened to his breathing change. It was a subtle difference, one I only picked up on because of my fascination with his usual calmness. His breathing became more ragged, as if he was on the verge of crying.

My heart ached for him, and I leaned in closer, stretching my arms around him. I tried to rock his body with mine, and I think he _let _me do this, because I couldn't imagine moving his solid form otherwise. He leaned into me, resting his face on the top of my head, and made quiet, gasping breaths along my hair.

He hadn't done anything to all those people. For him to believe that was just ridiculous. I knew some thought that all brilliant minds were a little mad; that losing a little sanity was the cost of ingeniousness. Was this Edward's particular brand of delusion?

Could I handle it, maybe even help him?

A week ago, I would have said absolutely not. There was Charlie to think of, and while I was experiencing a slight reprieve from his costs now, there would be high costs toward the end of his life and for the subsequent funeral. My life was still insane in its own way.

But as I held Edward, I knew there was nothing I wouldn't do for him. Though secrets lay between us, though he might be a little crazy himself, I wanted nothing more than to be there for him.

I frowned as I thought of the forlorn melodies that had made me cry in The Rosebud's dark hallway. "I'm sure whatever you think you did to all those people isn't that bad. They probably don't even know that you feel guilty. I bet they—"

"_Don't_," he snapped as he pulled away from me. He turned hard, dark eyes onto my face. "You don't know _anything_."

_This_ argument again. It was exhausting.

Though his words stung and his stare was intimidating, I held my ground. I felt indignant. "Only because you won't _tell_ me. I'm going on guesses here."

"Oh, that's rich, Bella. As if you've been baring your soul to me since the moment we met."

"What?" _How the fuck is this about me now?_

"You're stubborn, and you hide as much as I do," he growled.

"I do not."

He reached up and flicked a lock of hair away from my face. An icy finger tapped against my scar, and I flinched away. "Don't you?" he taunted. He put his hand back on his lap, and I watched his fingers curl inward until he'd made a fist. "The real you is in Forks, with Charlie, and yet I don't think I would have even known about him or that part of your life if I'd not called at the right time last week. Don't accuse me of being secretive and evasive when you, yourself are."

"So we're both keeping secrets, then. Is that it?" I mumbled.

"Looks like."

We were quiet, and I looked away from him. He was right. I'd never had any intention of revealing so much to him. When Charlie had become ill, I'd put a separator between my life in Forks and the one I had in Port Angeles. It was the only way to stay sane.

I'd planned to keep it that way, too, but since that Saturday, when all my hopes for my father were dashed into nothingness, Edward was in both my worlds, bringing with him elation and great disturbance.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. "It's just easier to _try_ to lead a normal life in Port Angeles."

"I understand that. Why do you think I don't want to venture into my past with you? My past isn't good. I want a fresh start."

"I don't want to be lied to," I replied.

"And I don't want to lie to you," he whispered, "but if you knew everything… You'd never be able to accept me."

"Can't you let _me_ make that decision for myself?"

"Maybe one day, but I'm not ready for that, Bella."

I nodded, and we stared at each other in silence before Edward's expression turned thoughtful. "What is it?" I asked.

"I know it's hypocritical, given all that's been said, but would you tell me about your scar? Please?"

_Please?_ He'd pulled out the big guns now.

I sighed and decided I could give him this. It was only fair. He'd given me insight into his music, after all.

"The _official_ story is that I skidded on black ice on the 101 and had a wreck," I said.

"Official story?"

I nodded. "The truth is I don't really know what caused the wreck. It happened just after I moved here. I was driving to school, and I could have _sworn_ something ran in front of me on the road. I _thought_ it was a woman. She was moving so fast, though—faster than I've ever seen a person run. All I could really make out was her hair. It was so red." I shook my head at the memory. Even after all these years, I'd not forgotten the red brilliance that was her hair. "I swerved to miss her, and that's how I ended up in the ditch. I was lucky I was wearing my seatbelt. The truck flipped upside down."

Edward rested his fingers along my neck. "I'm glad you were all right." He frowned, then, clearly thinking over my words. "Did you find out who she was?"

I snorted. "No, but then, I don't guess she was real. I was so convinced she was, though. I told _everyone_ what happened. I thought maybe someone would know who she was, so I'd then know I wasn't crazy." I laughed in embarrassment.

"And no one knew anyone like her?"

"No," I said, sounding a little bitter. Not long after I'd started asking around about the woman I'd thought I'd seen, Mike Newton—thinking he was being _cute _and _flirtatious_—started calling me "Batty Bella." Shy as I was, I didn't much appreciate that, particularly when it stuck for my whole, goddamn junior year.

I continued my story. "My jaw and about a quarter of the right side of my face was pretty much shattered from the accident." I rolled my eyes. "It's _so_ stupid. I always thought that my truck would save me from anything. It was this ancient, steel-bodied Chevy… Well, I get why cars have crumple zones now. The Chevy came out of it all just fine. I was a mess, though.

"That's how I got to know Carlisle and Esme so well. Carlisle handled all my surgeries, and Esme was always bringing Charlie and me food since I couldn't do much of anything for a month." I laughed. "I was so coked up on pain meds. I was lucky that Forks was a little behind Phoenix's curriculum schedule, or I never would have been able to finish that first semester normally, even with doing all the work at home."

Edward trailed his fingers up and ran them across my disfigured flesh. I didn't look him in the eye, but I didn't move away this time, either. "So you thought you saw something." He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not _uncommon_, particularly when driving in the mornings or late at night. Your eyes play tricks on you, and you were probably just tired. Why are you so embarrassed about this?" he asked. "It's not a very significant scar for such considerable injuries. It's healed well." His brow furrowed. "_Carlisle_ did well."

"It's not the scar that embarrasses me. I mean, I wish it looked better. I just—" I struggled to find the right words. "I hate being asked about it, because then I have to lie."

"Lie? How so?"

"About the redheaded woman. Carlisle's told me that I probably had some sort of hallucination before I passed out, and that my brain most likely screwed up the order of its information, and so the redhead I dreamed up into being is—in _my_ head—what caused the accident. False information."

"But you don't believe him?" His question was more of a statement.

I frowned. "I don't know what I believe about that day. All I know is that the more I tried to find out about it, the more people thought I was nuts." I grinned a little. "It's kind of shit to be the crazy girl in a small town."

"You aren't crazy."

I shrugged and looked down at my shoes. "Maybe not, but logically I know Carlisle's probably right. And yet, still there's this huge part of me that thinks there was a woman there. When people ask me about it, I don't want to lie and say I just had an accident, because I'm not sure I really believe that. But then, if I tell the truth… I don't want people thinking I'm a whack job, either."

Edward wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer into his side. "You _aren't_ crazy, Bella."

_Hopefully neither of us is_, I thought.

I felt Edward's cold fingertips on my scar again. He ran them down along my jaw until he held my chin. He tilted my face upward and leaned in, pressing a deep, slow kiss onto my mouth. I sighed as he pulled away.

"Do you really want me?" I asked quietly. I hated needing all of these reassurances, but it was in my personality to ask. "I know you said you did on Thursday, but then today…"

Edward squeezed my shoulder. "I definitely want you. You sometimes overwhelm me, is all."

_Compliment or insult? _I buried my face against his neck as I felt the flame of a blush.

"We should be leaving now, if we're going to make it to your father's by six," he said, giving me another squeeze before releasing me.

I nodded and kissed his neck. "Thank you for today."

He got up from the sofa and offered me his hand to help me up. "I'm just glad you aren't running away from me, screaming as you go."

_Perhaps I should be_, I thought. There were a lot of weird things about Edward, a lot of things he wouldn't go into detail about, either because the reality of them truly was awful or because he wrongfully believed that. But I was drawn in; I wasn't going anywhere. I could only hope he'd tell me the truth in time, however he saw it. I knew pushing him was hopeless. He'd just pull away, and I knew I didn't want that.

"I'm pretty stubborn," I said to him as he pulled me up from the sofa. "I think it'd take a lot for me to do that." It was stupid and frightening, but I didn't think anything he could possibly tell me would get me to run away.

"Maybe." He smiled softly and kissed my forehead with one of his barely-there touches. "Come on, let's go see your father."


	13. Interspecies Relations

**_Author's Notes (November 1, 2010):_**_ Whew, okay, so I pretty well failed at replying to reviews. Some of you I didn't get back to at all, while others I managed to reply to, just today. Sorry, guys. I'm definitely more of a writer than a review replier, but I always read what you write! It keeps me going!_

_Special thanks to the ladies that whipped this chapter into shape: **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**. _

**_Chapter pic:_**_ sadly none this time. :( I was super sick, and it wasn't so super._

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm13-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 13: INTERSPECIES RELATIONS**

* * *

_One day I'll be wondering how_  
_I got so old just wondering how_  
_I never was cold wearing nothing in the snow._

_"Caring is Creepy" by The Shins_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Halfway to Forks, Bella received a call from Carlisle to say he, Esme and Alice would be joining us at Charlie's for the evening. I let up on the accelerator then, suddenly a little less eager to go with Bella to Forks, even if I did want to be there to protect her from potential disaster. I'd been avoiding contact with the Cullens since last Sunday. I hadn't planned on changing that any time soon, but it seemed I no longer had a choice in the matter.

On Wednesday night, when Bella had fallen asleep, I'd returned to Forks to see what I could learn of the coven from a distance, knowing they'd returned from Canada by then. I knew they would scent me in the forest later, but I'd thought I could learn _something_ from their thoughts. They knew so much about me already. At this point, I was blindly grasping for any sort of advantage.

Of course, things hadn't gone according to plan. _Again_.

I was beginning to note a pattern in my existence.

I'd been two miles from their house, listening in, hoping to learn something, but the only thoughts I could read were abnormally focused ones and Alice's nauseating tour of imagery. I heard the soft tenor of what could only be Esme Cullen's thoughts as she focused on a blueprint, and there was Carlisle, diligently reciting something—in a language I didn't know—Russian, I thought. It took me a while to figure out what was happening, but eventually I realized that Alice had foreseen my clandestine visit and had _instructed_ Carlisle and Esme. That was all the proof I needed. Clearly the Cullens were hiding something from me, but what was it?

Alice was such a thorn in my side.

Should anything go awry from here, I would be in a vulnerable position. In the past, my tactic for survival among my own kind, when I'd chanced upon them, had been to avoid all potential conflict. That was precisely why I'd not remained with the one coven I'd spent any length of time with. I didn't know how to fight, and I figured my chances of survival would always be higher if I didn't get involved. Period. It was simple, really.

I couldn't avoid the Cullens, though, no matter how much I might desire to; I couldn't even oppose them, really. I had no ground to stand on, and whether I liked or understood it at all, they were a part of Bella and Charlie's lives. They _had_ been, long before I'd ever come to town to stalk the woman who was now in the car with me. I was fortunate, in that they weren't traditional vampires trying to stake a claim on their territory, because a solitary vampire such as I was no match against a united coven.

No, were I to willfully disrupt the peace they'd kept by acting out against them, I would be the one at fault, the one at their mercy, and Bella would most certainly not view me in a favorable light, either. Since my revelation last Sunday night, that was what mattered most to me in the end. It was probably a little suicidal of me to care so much, but I was ironically eaten up by my feelings for her.

"Edward?"

I glanced at Bella. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? You're really quiet." Her eyes were worried as they darted to the speedometer. She'd noticed we were going slower. There were times when she seemed to notice everything.

"I'm all right," I lied, as I often did, because what could I possibly tell her? Not the truth—never the truth.

I became more anxious as we arrived in Forks. In time, I managed to grab hold of the Cullens' thoughts in the sea of mental voices, but they weren't focused on anything worthwhile. Charlie's muted thoughts were impossible to find until his house came into view.

I parked behind a black Mercedes. "Carlisle's?" I guessed.

Bella nodded.

"Do the Cullens have a penchant for ostentatious vehicles?" I asked. _They should be more careful_, I thought. In a coven their size, they didn't need additional reasons to draw attention to themselves if our only rule was to keep the secret of our kind.

"You're one to talk," she teased me. "But, yes, they all drive fancy cars. They're loaded."

At her words, I felt an echo of my past, of _her_ past, of how her mother had said the same thing of me twenty-one years earlier. "Money's not everything," I said. "And it's poor company."

"Only when you have it."

I frowned, but opted not to say anything further, because I knew in her human world with human needs, she wasn't entirely incorrect. I felt we were going to have to do something about her financial situation if she and Charlie were to have the time together that they deserved. Unfortunately, I knew she'd be reluctant to receive help, perhaps especially from me, when I was so busy keeping secrets from her, as she'd well learned today. I was still trying to figure out what the repercussions of her visit to my home would be.

There was a light mist on the breeze, and it was as if I were blanketed in her scent as I helped her out of the car. She smelled _so_ good, and I leaned in quickly and brushed her lips with mine. I craved her—blood and body and soul. I lingered until her breathing was unsteady, because I loved to see her relax and come undone. It made me lose my mind, perhaps, but I was masochistic enough to enjoy that.

Would I ever be able to touch her, have her as I so deeply desired?

Would I ever be able to tell her how I felt?

I still burned when around her—in more ways than one—but I was coping, hanging on by a thin hair of a thread. I wasn't sneaking into her bedroom anymore. _I was invited._ Her bed smelled like _me_ now, too. But I was selfish, and this was not enough for me where Bella was concerned.

"Hey, you guys!" Alice sang as she popped out of Charlie's like a vampire-in-a-box, immediately annihilating the mood by my car. She bounced on her toes at the edge of the porch. _Yay! I'm glad you're here_, she thought to me. I scowled at her.

_Ooh, that's not pretty at all. Don't let your face get stuck that way. You already have to look like you do for the rest of eternity._ With that, she skipped back into the house.

What was wrong with the way I looked?

I stayed close to Bella's side as we entered the house. I wasn't as on edge as when I'd first met Alice, but I was still very much aware that Bella was walking into a house with three vampires, _not_ including me. This seemed like a terrible idea, and while Bella kicked off her shoes and chatted with Alice, I contemplated throwing Bella over my shoulder and making a run for Canada.

There was laughter in the kitchen—pure and sweet and unnaturallymusical, as was always the case with a vampire's vocal range. Esme had brought dinner tonight to relieve Bella of cooking duties, and Charlie was rather eager to get started. He'd been stealing little bites of what Esme was calling _quiches_, and she was popping him gently with a dishtowel when we entered the kitchen—an oddly domestic and familial sight for predator and prey to be entertaining. Alice joined Carlisle where he was seated beside Charlie, just to complete the odd scene.

"Hey, Dad," Bella said. I held my breath as she moved away from me to go hug her father. My whole body was stiff as she walked right into the thick of the vampire-filled room, but they didn't seem to note her presence as out of the ordinary, as a potential meal. I relaxed as she squeezed her father's frail, bony body and kissed the cap on his bald head.

"Hey, Bells. You're looking good." Charlie looked at her closely. _Looks happier._ He glanced at me, and through his memory of Bella from just a week before, I realized that she did actually look happier, as though the lines around her eyes had smoothed out. She was maybe getting more rest. _Maybe…all right for her_, he thought.

I wanted him to be right, but deep down, I knew he wasn't. How could a vampire ever be _right_ for a human?

I finally allowed myself to acknowledge the coven leader beside Charlie, the vampire from my own human life. Carlisle's thoughts were calm, erring on the provocative side as he watched his mate bend down to retrieve something from a cabinet. I nearly laughed at the extreme normality of it all, but then he caught my smirk, and I was suddenly treated with something that sounded a lot like Latin, though I couldn't be sure.

How _old_ was he to know _Latin_?

Of course, no matter his true age, he looked exactly the same as he had in the photograph from his office, the same as he had in my human life. As he stared at me, a small smile on his face, I wondered if beneath that layer of Latin, he was thinking the same sort of things about me.

What were the odds of this perverse reunion that cheated time and death? Astronomical, surely.

"Carlisle, Esme, this is Edward," Bella announced from her father's side, pulling me from my thoughts. She smiled broadly at me, and I felt my own lips lift. Not much could get to me when she was smiling.

Esme moved away from the dish she was preparing and came to stand before me. Her thoughts were gentle as she looked at my face. _I hope we aren't overwhelming you. We wanted to meet you_, she thought. Aloud, she said something similar, but less revealing. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Edward."

Instead of shaking my hand, as I thought she would, she reached up and patted my cheek. The gesture felt familiar somehow, as if perhaps my own, human mother had done this. Esme glanced at Bella. "I'm happy our Bella has met someone."

_Our_ Bella.

I frowned as she turned back to her human food, and I was left wondering whether she was happy that _their_ Bella had met a vampire or happy that she'd met someone who cared for her. I didn't know which concept I preferred, really, though I knew which was more appropriate for Bella.

Bella, for her part, blushed crimson. "_Esme_…"

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, not to interrupt all the introductions, but everybody's here. Can we get started now?"

Esme laughed, and it seemed to please Bella that her father had a good appetite. She went to help prepare plates of food while Charlie, Alice and Carlisle talked amongst themselves. I remained in the doorway of the kitchen, fretting, watching, learning—feeling a hair out of place. It was as if I were intruding upon a family dinner—an odd notion when three of the family members couldn't even digest human food. Did they even _understand_ the notion of family?

More importantly, did _I_? _Could_ I?

All I knew was I loved _her_.

The interaction between Esme and Bella was puzzling, but through it I came to accept Esme a lot more easily than I expected I would. Ignoring all interspecies concerns, and the fact that she'd clearly been only a few years older than Bella when she was turned, Esme viewed Bella as a daughter. Judging by Bella's reactions, she might even think of Esme as a mother. On the one hand, this seemed right, as Renée, no matter any number of good or bad or indifferent intentions, had obviously turned out to be an utterly clueless parent. It was right that Bella should have a surrogate mother of sorts, but_… She was a vampire._ I couldn't quite get past that.

Of course, I was throwing stones from a glass house when I judged Esme. I was the one in Bella's bed every night, trying to keep my hands _and_ teeth off her.

We had dinner—well, Charlie and Bella did—and as I again observed the interactions at the table, Carlisle silently instructed me on how to pretend to eat food in a believable manner. At least something good was coming out of this. I could get used to _not_ coughing up venom-coated slime in the middle of the night.

Just as I'd concluded when Alice had visited by herself, I decided there was no denying the Cullens' devotion to the Swans or their peacefulness toward me, even if it did go against all my understanding of my kind. Regardless of my past with him, Carlisle was clearly a secondary father figure for Bella, a friend to Charlie, and a caretaker who looked over their physical, human well-being. Esme showered Bella with sweetness, and Alice made them laugh with her vivacious personality.

They weren't _like_ a family. They _were_ a family.

It was one of the strangest things I'd seen in a hundred years.

The Cullens continued to hide things from me. Their thoughts remained abnormally focused or at least purposefully preoccupied, often in languages that I didn't know. Earlier in the day, when I'd driven Bella to my home, I'd felt so clever, knowing French, but French and Spanish were the only languages I'd picked up over the years, and I was being easily outwitted by the better educated now. I tried to peel back the layers of their minds, but that could be a difficult task, if not altogether impossible with vampires. It was even worse when they were aware of my ability and taking full advantage of it.

Human minds were usually capable of only two or three flimsy layers of simultaneous thought. Vampire minds weren't like this. We possessed the capacity to think of many things at once, and these thought processes were deeply and complexly layered. Each thought of a vampire mind contained much more information, due to our perfect recall, and so juggling the data was more difficult for me, particularly with several of us in the room.

Where humans and vampires did find common ground was in the fact that there were always one or two thoughts that took up _primary_ focus, and this was how the Cullens were brilliantly locking me out. Humans were easily distracted, and so primary focus shifted often or could be easily directed with prompting; truly, all humans suffered from attention problems.

A vampire, however, could focus at will, locking me into a single, louder "top" layer of thought, while other things might be going on beneath the surface. Humans would be hopeless trying this, but vampires could devote a whole layer of "sub-thought" to keeping that one main point in focus. I'd had this happen only one other time in my existence, the time I'd been foolish enough to reveal the secrets of my ability. I'd vowed never to do that again. And yet, here I was, caught in the same situation—and at no fault of my own.

What incredibly bad luck.

Alice's brain was the worst, though, I decided. She had more layers than an onion and had somehow learned how to give nearly-primary focus to several at a time. Her tactic wasn't to lock me onto one thought, but to overwhelm me so I had no desire to look any deeper than my ability forced me to do so. For the most part, it worked, too; the information overload was uncomfortable, disquieting in the same way crowds could be.

When everyone had finished eating, or at least pretended to do so, Charlie rose from the table and began reaching for plates. "I'll go clean these," he said.

Beside me, Bella got up as well, her brow furrowed with worry. "Dad? Don't worry about it. I can get it."

He stacked Carlisle's plate on top of the two he was already balancing. "Nonsense. Esme fixed dinner. You helped serve it. I don't mind cleaning, Bells." His lips set in a familiar, stubborn line.

Bella shook her head. "It's the end of the day. I know you're tired. You shouldn't be straining yourself." She reached to take the plates out of his hands, but he jerked them away.

"I can do this myself," he grunted, his face turning red. His thoughts were tangled. He was angry at Bella for making him appear weak, but the root of his anger went deeper. He _did_ feel weak.

His breathing was shallow as he reached for the plate I hesitantly held out to him, and then a coughing fit came. It started out simply enough, but then it turned deeper, ragged, and his thoughts homed in on that final human need: to keep breathing. He dropped the plates down onto the table, where they smacked together, and braced himself against the tabletop.

"Dad!" Bella grabbed him around his shoulders. Alice, Esme and I stood up and looked at each other, all uncomfortable with the tense situation and unsure of what to do.

Carlisle was in motion, however. He was confident as he went to the kitchen, a cough syrup bottle in mind. He returned with it a moment later, just as Charlie's wheezing was beginning to quiet. "It's all right, Bella," Carlisle assured her with a pat on her back. "Give him some space. He just needs to take this." He spoke to Charlie, "You forgot to take your morning dose?"

Charlie shrugged and didn't say anything. _Get it together...can't let…see me like this._

"What is that?" Bella asked, wringing her hands together as Carlisle poured dark green liquid into a spoon.

"Only cough syrup," he answered, while steadying the spoon in Charlie's thin hand as he took the medicine. "It only relieves symptoms, but that's all we need now." His words were delivered in that calm, authoritative voice all competent doctors used on patients and their families. They were a reminder that Charlie had made his decision, and that any medicines administered now were taken for reasons of comfort.

Bella watched her father closely, her eyes flickering between the spoon, his hands, the gaunt and hairless features of his face. Her own face was twisted in pain, her eyes filled with unshed tears. As I got up to go to her, I wondered how her human body could handle these emotions, how it didn't crumble beneath the weight and stress.

"Don't," she hissed at me when I reached out to her.

_She doesn't mean anything by that_, Esme thought. _She's just upset._

"Bella?" I whispered, my hand lifted in between us, stretched toward her face, but frozen in midair by rejection. I dropped it back to my side after several long seconds.

She ignored me and asked Charlie, "Are you okay now, Dad?"

He nodded and cleared his throat. "Right as rain."

Bella's frown deepened as she picked up the plates that Charlie had dropped and took them into the kitchen. They crashed and clattered again, this time in the sink. The back door slammed a moment later, banging twice against the frame.

She stood outside, yet close enough to the house that I was still able to hear her heartbeat as it raced away. I was so attuned to the rhythm now that I understood some of its finer nuances. This was a beat in double time, a running sound—a wanting to _run away_ sound.

Unfortunately for Bella—unfortunately for me—I'd never figured out how to completely run away from death. It was an inevitable force in the universe, one that affected even my immortal existence. Perhaps Bella understood this, in the depths of herself; perhaps that was why she stayed in place, even as her heart didn't.

I made to follow her outside, but Alice stopped me. _Let Esme_, she thought_._ Esme was already headed toward the kitchen and back door. Her thoughts were warm and sad, focused on helping Bella. No matter her compassionate thinking, it wasn't easy letting a vampire trail behind Bella. At least, not one that wasn't _me_.

_You can be assured that Esme loves Bella_, Carlisle thought, even as he spoke to Charlie about the importance of taking his medicine. _She has very good control and has decades of living a vegetarian lifestyle._

Vegetarian? Ah. Very funny—and very morbid for the good doctor.

Alice smiled at me and gave her own reassurance. _It's okay, you know. We'd never hurt her._

I tried to believe them, but when it came to Bella, my head was rarely capable of rational thought. Yet fearful of what might happen, I stared off and kept my mind closely focused on Esme's as the rest of us continued to sit and talk in the dining room, as if everything were normal.

"That was hard to witness, wasn't it?" Esme asked. Through her eyes, I saw Bella's back, hunched as she held her arms around her middle, as though she were keeping herself from falling apart. She was facing the woods that ran along the back of Charlie's house when a westerly wind flipped her brown hair out behind her. Without even seeing her face, Esme and I both thought she looked incredibly tired for one so young.

"I just wish he was well," Bella said. She didn't turn around as she began to ramble. "Sometimes I get my hopes up. I thought, what with him and Carlisle… I thought today was a good thing, a good sign, even though that's really stupid. And then when he's stubborn, and he won't let me help him… If he'd just let me clean up, he never would have strained himself. I see how bad he is, and I know it's only going to get worse. And still I hope. And then things like this happen." She groaned in frustration. "It's so stupid. All of it's just stupid."

"Feelings aren't always rational," Esme replied. I held my breath as she walked toward Bella and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her thoughts calculating the exact strength to use on my fragile human. "Have I ever told you about my little baby?"

Bella glanced sideways at her. "No…"

"Carlisle and I can't have children now, which is why we've chosen to adopt, but I did have a little boy before we came to Forks." Her memory was a faded, grainy human one, of course, of a baby boy she'd lost to a lung infection. I saw the small headstone; she lost him in 1921, the year that it appeared we were both turned into vampires.

She remembered singing lullabies as she cradled the little boy and walked around the hospital. Walking with him, singing to him, those were the only ways he'd ever fallen asleep. He'd only lived a few days, but the memory of his face she'd kept with her always. It was this cherished memory of a human child that allowed me to relax in the here and now. I had no doubt that Esme knew I was listening to her thoughts, to their conversation. She was _sharing_ this with Bella and with me.

This woman, vampire or not, would not harm Bella. It wasn't in her to do so. She'd retained too much of her human self to do that. Still, I listened, even as another part of my brain discussed the weather with Alice.

"He was the most beautiful thing in the world," she said. "I know I'm biased, but he _really_ was." She chuckled. "I loved him so much, and when he got sick, there were moments when I told myself he looked better, when he really didn't, or cried less, when he maybe cried even more. It was hard to lose him—the hardest thing I've ever been through." She was telling the truth. In her mind, not even the painful fire of the transformation could compare to the loss of her child. Human loss burned more brightly, because it burned forever, especially for those of us who had the potential to exist for that long.

"I'm so sorry," Bella said.

Esme squeezed her, and I didn't tense up; I was glad she was offering comfort. "It was a long time ago now. My point is that any time we love someone so dearly, we'll find reason to hope, even in the face of the most disheartening truths. It's not a bad thing, you know, if it helps you or them get through a day."

"But what happens when he's gone? Won't I be even more disappointed? I feel like I should be realistic." She sucked in a shaky breath. "Prepare myself."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it—and it will be a matter for _all of us_, Bella. You aren't alone in this. I only wish you'd let us do _more_ for you." _We're covering the funeral costs, whether you want us to or not_, she thought, and if the scenario weren't such a sad one, I would have laughed at Esme's determination.

"You already do too much."

"Nonsense. A family takes care of its own." Esme brushed Bella's hair with her hand, while I sat in silent awe in the dining room. _Family_. There was that word again.

A moment of silence passed between them before Bella asked, "Dad and Carlisle didn't just spend the day together, did they?"

"No." Esme's voice became a whisper. "Do you want to know what they did?"

"I— Yeah, I think so."

Esme didn't sugarcoat anything. "They saw our lawyer and finalized your father's will."

"They _what_?" Bella nearly shouted, and I watched through Esme's vision as she pulled away, as her face turned red, just as Charlie's had a while earlier.

"It was time, and Charlie wanted to make sure everything was clear and valid, so you won't have to deal with much when the time comes."

"When he's _dead_, you mean," Bella deadpanned. "I should have been there—not Carlisle."

Esme didn't disagree. "I knew you'd want to be there, but Charlie wanted it this way. It's his way of protecting you while he can."

Bella snorted. "Protecting me? He only feels that way because he thinks I'm still in college, living in a happy bubble."

For a moment, Esme felt frustrated by both Charlie and Bella's stubbornness. She didn't see why Bella should shoulder so much responsibility or why Charlie should try to shelter his daughter. She voiced none of this. "You need to be with him. Why don't you let us help you? We will, you know. You can pay us back if you want, but you certainly don't have to. We love you like you're one of our own. I hate to see you so stressed and overworked. At least consider cutting back your hours."

Bella's eyes turned cold, despite their warm brown hue. "I told you before, I can handle things on my own. I'll be _fine_," she replied, a stubborn edge to her voice, and then turned away. She entered the house again.

Though I couldn't read Bella's mind, I knew she'd break this night. She hid it as she returned to the dining room, smiling as she passed Charlie and patted his back, but I knew if no one else did. I grabbed her hand and willed myself to be her lifeline. She didn't reject me this time. She drew nearer.

* * *

Charlie had once spent his free time watching sports, but he had given that up in recent months, in favor of spending more quality time with loved ones. This had resulted in Sunday night card games, when he felt well enough for them. So it was that I found myself at the dining room table with the vampire Cullens and human Swans, a questionable set of cards in my left hand and a few grimy pennies beside me for play betting.

With the exception of one round of poker, we played old games that Esme and Carlisle had taught Charlie and Bella—500 Rum, Pitch, Crazy Eights, Hearts. From Carlisle's memory, I learned that card games had been one of the ways he'd taught Esme to regulate her newborn strength. If she could shuffle a deck without ripping the cards, she had mastered the strength of her hands. Indeed, Esme shuffled like the dealers in Vegas and egged us on just as much. Carlisle almost always tried to bluff, no matter what his cards were like, and Charlie spent so much time trying to figure everyone else's cards out that his own hand was almost always poor.

I wasn't sure I'd ever played these games in my human life, but I caught on quickly and—admittedly—cheated, right alongside of Alice, who sneaked peeks into the future when she could get away with it. She didn't hide her ability from me during the card games, and I learned how she navigated the future as she chattered away to me mentally. For the moment, I could genuinely say I didn't mind her. I maybe even appreciated her ability, since cheating was the only way Bella hadn't personally nabbed all my pennies after a few short games. Somehow, Bella had no idea how she was winning half of the time, but she was thoroughly pleased that she could best me. She once stuck her tongue out at me while grabbing two pennies I'd bet.

I may have let her win a few times, just in hopes of seeing that again.

The entertainment of the games came second to the reality of what took place in the small dining room. Charlie was happy, and Bella glowed as a result. The Cullens had relaxed their thoughts a little, since they were primarily focused on the game, and I found them to be good…_people_ through the night. They didn't feel superior to the humans in the room, though their minds certainly might be, and their feelings toward me were strangely accepting. There was warmth and laughter here.

And _I_ laughed, perhaps more than I ever had. I laughed when Carlisle, who seemed so straight-laced, let out a curse over his mate's trickery. I laughed at Alice's sour expression when Bella's indecision over her cards caused one of her visions to be wrong. I laughed when Bella did an awkward victory dance in her chair after beating Charlie, who turned out to be a rather sore loser, at least when it came to Crazy Eights.

We played into the night, until the old clock in the dining room chimed twelve times. Charlie looked at it in surprise, though his eyes were red with exhaustion. "Bells, you two better get on back to Port Angeles. Don't your classes start early?"

Bella wouldn't meet his gaze as she nodded. "Early enough."

"Good game!" Alice said, cleverly redirecting everyone's attention as she began picking up the cards a little too fast.

Charlie was staring at the pennies, counting. "Esme, you won _again_. By two pennies." He looked at Bella. "You almost had her, kid."

"Maybe next time," Esme said with a self-satisfied smile as she shuffled the two decks of cards Alice handed her before putting them back in their boxes.

Just as it had been the week before, parting from Charlie wasn't easy for Bella. The Cullens and I went out onto the front porch to give them some modicum of privacy, though we could still hear their shy interactions. Charlie and Bella seemed to find emotional interaction with each other difficult.

"So you said you wanted to go fishing last week," Charlie said in his gruff, raspy voice. _Hope…okay._ "Carlisle and I thought we'd go next Sunday. Why don't you and, uh, _Edward_ come along?" _…all right boy._

He approved of me?

"I'd love that." I saw her smile through Charlie's thoughts, and he felt at peace.

They hugged, whispered their love, and then Bella came out onto the porch with the rest of us. Her face was mottled red, her cheeks damp and glowing under the glare of the porch floodlight. I pulled her to me and kissed her forehead.

"Bella?" Carlisle said as he looked at us, his tone gentle and sad. "I know it's late, but would you and Edward be willing to come to our house for a while? There are things I feel I should discuss with you, regarding Charlie's health. I didn't want to do this over the phone, and you're only here this one night." His smile was apologetic and surprisingly genuine.

"You could stay at our place, so you don't have to come back and disturb Charlie. We've got a guestroom and everything," Alice offered, chipper as ever.

I stiffened a little at the thought, but I looked at Bella, waiting for her to decide. I would go wherever she did—especially into vampire dens. She looked back at me, tired but determined. "You drove us here. Is it okay if…"

"Of course, if you're not too tired. We can stay here tonight or drive back, whichever you prefer." But I was hoping she didn't want to sleep in a vampire house, even if they did seem saintly.

Bella nodded at me and then turned a watery smile onto the Cullens. "All right. Well, let's just get the hard stuff over and done with, and we'll see how we are."

* * *

When Bella and I arrived at the Cullens' mansion, Carlisle immediately led us to his office on the second floor, while Alice and Esme remained downstairs. Knowing what to expect here, my head was clearer this time, so I could more fully take in my surroundings. Though I wasn't at an angle to see the photograph, a new picture frame was on Carlisle's work desk, one undoubtedly purchased to replace the one I'd damaged in my fear and frustration the last time I'd been in this room.

I noticed this time that the wall beside his desk had several discolorations—signs that other frames of varying sizes were no longer there. I wondered where they'd been moved. He caught me staring as he sat behind his desk, and his mind returned to the general mystery that was the Latin language. I narrowed my eyes at him, confused and disconcerted.

"Please, sit," he said to Bella and me, nodding toward a set of chairs.

I glanced at her. "Do you want me here?" I pled with my eyes. I wasn't ready to leave her with Carlisle—Esme, perhaps, and maybe even Alice, but not Carlisle. Not while I still thought of him as the strange creature from my human past.

"Of course I want you with me." She said it, as if any other idea was absurd. Relieved, I pulled two of the chairs up to Carlisle's desk and grabbed Bella's hand as we sat.

"You're going to tell me what to expect, right?" Bella asked him. "I've already read some of the brochures you gave me and stuff online."

Carlisle nodded once. "There's that, yes, but it's also time to discuss hospice and palliative care."

"He's not _that_ sick yet," she protested.

"No, but it's best to make some of these more difficult decisions while he still feels well enough to make them. I've already discussed this with Charlie, but it's important for you to have a say as well, given the circumstances. It will be less overwhelming for both of you if we handle this now."

I knew the unspoken truth, though Carlisle's thoughts were veiled. Charlie's scent was fading fast, becoming masked by the bitter sourness of illness. I didn't have to taste his blood to know that he wouldn't taste quite _right_. The blood would be wrong, sickly. The cancer was spreading, reaching out its claw-like tendrils to other organs and vessels. I doubted humans tests were advanced enough to note its day to day travels, but I could smell it. It had progressed.

It occurred to me that _this_ was human death—this pain, this finality that I would never experience for myself. I'd seen it a thousand times, even delivered it like some bizarre Grim Reaper, but I was only now beginning to understand it. I gripped Bella's hand a little tighter. How long did I have with _her_? How long until she knew too much, until I was forced to watch her from afar? How long…how long until she, too, withered and passed, went in just one final direction of so many directions I could not follow?

Bella stretched her fingers in my restraining hand, and I released them at once, afraid I was hurting her. I watched the blood rush back to her pale skin and licked my lips, loathing my disgusting hunger, myself. Tonight, of all nights, I needed to hunt, of course.

"Okay," Bella said with a sigh, pulling me from the darkness with her voice. "I want him to be cared for at his house. He's most comfortable there, and then we won't have to deal with…people in the community." She frowned. "You know how they've been. Either he's not been their concern since he had to retire or they're busy trying to make sure his _soul's_ saved." She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"People sometimes don't know how to handle death, particularly of an important figure in the community, such as your father." It was a diplomatic statement.

"Well, they could at least _try_."

His lips quirked. "I seem to remember you running off the last group."

I cocked my head at Bella. She shrugged. "They wanted to _pray in tongues_ over him, to heal him," she said, using air quotes. "As far as religious people go, I've only allowed Pastor Weber around since then."

"All right," Carlisle said. "In-home care can be arranged. Charlie seemed most interested in that as well." As if he didn't possess perfect recall, he made notes on a legal pad; it was a to-do list. _How very human._ He put his pen down and stared at Bella, as if trying to read her. I knew the look well, as it was one I was always finding myself in around her. "How are you financially?"

Bella stiffened. "Esme already asked. We'll be fine." She bit her lip, and that 'V' appeared between her brows, the one that said she was thinking about things that I desperately wanted to know. "How much is it going to be?"

"Some of it will be covered, and there is your father's pension from his years in the police force—"

"_How much_, Carlisle?"

"You'll probably have around two thousand that isn't covered, depending on how long your father lives, and when we need to initially begin care."

Bella swallowed hard, and I carefully took her hand again. _Don't hold her too tightly. Light. Stay light._ It wasn't easy to cradle her fingers like a rose petal, when all I wanted to do was hold her tightly, crush her to me.

"Okay," she said with a nod. "I'm guessing you know who provides the best care." Carlisle nodded. "That's who I want, then. I don't care how much it costs. I just don't want him to—to feel anything in the end…" Tears sprang to her eyes. "I just don't want it to hurt him, and I know he's already in pain. He tries to hide it, but I know." The tears spilled over.

"I give you my word," Carlisle said. "Anything I can do to prevent or alleviate his pain: it _will_ be done."

She sniffed and took the tissue he extended. I stared at the tissue box in confusion. _Alice saw we'd need them_, he explained silently.

Of course she did.

"Thanks," Bella murmured as she wiped at her face. "I'm sorry." She shook her head and laughed hollowly. "You'd think I'd have gotten all this out by now."

I edged my chair closer to hers and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "No one thinks that, Bella." After all, one death could affect so much, so many. My dead heart ached with hers—for her, for Charlie, for all the families I'd destroyed in my existence. I wanted to _fix_ this for her, but the simple truth was there was no fixing death, not even when one cheated it as I did. Death was always this way. The ones left living were its victims, too.

Carlisle went on to explain what would happen to Charlie in the weeks—and, with any luck, months—to come. For now, he was experiencing a temporary burst of energy, having come off the chemotherapy drugs, but this would soon pass, to be replaced with more tiredness. There would be more fluid build-up around his lungs, which would in turn cause greater shortness of breath. He would cough up more blood as the tumors in his airways worsened and became irritated. The bones in his upper body, around his chest, would ache as they were eaten away by the spreading cancer.

If the lung cancer didn't take him any sooner, it would spread to his brain, leaving him confused, riddled with headaches, and possibly make communication difficult. And finally, he'd enter a stage known as active dying, where his body would slowly cool and stop craving food, where his breathing would alternate between hitching slowness and rapid pants, where his heartbeat would change—speed up, then slow down—until everything, every amazing human mechanism shut down.

"He'll pass, then, Bella," Carlisle was saying.

It was this last thing, this confirmation from the doctor she trusted, that broke her. With shuddering gasps, the tears came, and nothing Carlisle and I said seemed to stop them. Her whole body shook, and Carlisle decided she was suffering from a mild panic attack. He was pulling out a sample of some drug from his desk drawer when Esme came into the room. She looked at him disapprovingly, as if to say his idea that he could drug this problem was absurd.

She knelt before Bella's chair. "Come sit with Alice and me for a while?" she asked, her voice tender. She reached up and held Bella's face and whispered comforting words. I knew her hands would be cold, just as mine were, and yet there was no revulsion in Bella's eyes, no flinching away. She looked _grateful_.

I wanted to help, but I realized then that Bella didn't need her _date_ or even her doctor. She needed her mother, and her mother was _not_ Renée Swan. It was this compassionate vampire woman who I'd decided I would trust.

Esme gripped my shoulder as she passed with Bella, who was quietly apologizing to me from Esme's side. I felt helpless, but I told Bella everything was fine—would _be_ fine. What else could I say?

They left the room, and then I was alone with the leader of the Cullen coven.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ Nothing SotPM-related, but I'm one of the judges in the **Original Character Awards** and would like to bring it to your attention. It's basically a set of awards that celebrate original, well-written characters in "Twilight" fan fiction. Judges validate for basic quality (grammar), and then everything goes to a fair, public vote. There are a number of categories in which you can nominate stories, and nominations end on the **5th of November**. Voting begins in December. Please nominate and get the word out!_

_Visit originalcharacterawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com for more information._


	14. Captured by Chaos

**_Author's Notes (November 15, 2010):_**_ Long chapter, but a lot happens. Hope you'll like it. Special thanks to the ladies who poke and prod and make me think: **duskwatcher**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm14-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ Tumblr's down right now, so check out the following… Roberto Cacciapaglia – Atlantico; Suzanne Vega – Penitent; Laura Marling - Alpha Shallows; Digital Daggers – Surrender._

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 14: CAPTURED BY CHAOS**

* * *

_Struggling so hard to see,_  
_My fist against eternity._  
_And will you break my will?_

_"Penitent" by Suzanne Vega_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Carlisle and I stared at each other. For a time, I think we both listened to Esme and Alice as they spoke to Bella in a guestroom on the third floor, but after a while, we seemed to return to the room we occupied, to contemplate one another. Now that we were alone, I had a million questions for him, and Carlisle seemed to know this; he waited patiently, expectantly. I wasn't sure where I should begin. It was difficult to sort through my thoughts, when his were going through a medical textbook, word for word.

That seemed as good a place to start as any, I decided.

"Why are you all trying to block your thoughts from me?" I asked. "I can…accept that you want privacy, but I feel like you're hiding something."

He looked sympathetic. "I'm truly sorry about that, least of all because it takes great effort to stay focused." He smiled. "Alice has requested we reveal only certain things about ourselves, as the time is right."

_As the time is right._ I could guess whose watch they were going by.

"Surely she's not afraid of me. I'm no threat." _Not to a coven this size._

"Esme and I don't pretend to fully understand Alice's reasoning," Carlisle said with a laugh.

"Yet you listen to her—_follow_ her." The Cullen coven clearly did not operate under any typical hierarchy.

"You come to trust someone after fifty years of living together. If it makes you feel any better, though, Esme and I are somewhat in the dark as well. Alice won't tell us the half of it."

"I'm not sure that _does_ make me feel better."

We both laughed then.

"What happened?" Carlisle asked a moment later.

"To me?"

He nodded. "Last time I saw you, you were a human boy. I never expected to see you alive, ninety years later."

"I'm not alive."

"And yet here you are. You move, you speak, you think. _I'd_ call that alive."

"Semantics," I said with a roll of my eyes. "To answer your question, a nomad turned me." I looked away from him, ashamed of my final moments as a human. "I was lying in an alley—so drunk I couldn't stand. I was an easy kill. Something must have happened, because he left me before…finishing." I shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the anger that so often consumed me when I thought of the vampire who'd made me.

"Have you been alone all this time?"

He sounded pitying, and I didn't like it.

"Mostly," I hedged. "I've met others, but being bombarded with their thoughts all the time isn't that peaceful. I've never stayed with anyone for long because of that." There were other reasons, too, but I wasn't about to venture into those with Carlisle.

"But you can't hear Bella's thoughts, can you?"

"Did Alice tell you that?"

Carlisle smiled. "No. I'm not sure what Alice does or doesn't know, to tell you the truth, but you behave differently with Bella. You ask her more questions. I assumed."

"You're right. She's the only one I've encountered whose thoughts are closed off to me. Charlie's are very quiet, too, but they're there."

"Fascinating."

"_Frustrating_ is more like it." I sighed and tried to find courage in the silence that stretched between us. There was one question I needed the answer to more than others, though I wasn't sure I would be pleased with the answer I received. That part of me that worried over the _what ifs_ of my existence demanded I understand my human history with Carlisle. "I've been wondering…"

"Yes?" he prompted.

I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair. "Why didn't _you_ change me?"

Carlisle's blonde brows lifted high on his forehead. "I considered it. I thought you were going to die, and I was very much alone in those days, searching for a companion to make this life more…enjoyable. But then, against all odds, you seemed to find your strength a few days after your mother passed. I couldn't do _this_ to you if you had the option of living a human life. It seemed you did." He looked apologetic.

So that was it then. No big mystery.

"You only change those who are dying?"

"In the past, that was part of my criteria, but I have no intention of changing others now or in the future. I've learned that not everyone wishes to be subjected to this life." He looked sad and regretful, but I couldn't break past his highly controlled thoughts to understand why. "Most would consider this to be an unnatural state, after all."

I sat still with my thoughts, considering his words. When the opportunity had presented itself, he'd sacrificed his chance for companionship to give me a human life. He'd done what he'd truly believed was right—_for me_. The thought sickened me, and I was supremely aware that I was the lesser man in the room. I'd squandered the life that Carlisle had spared. Then when fate had placed me in this form I was in now, I had ruthlessly murdered, while Carlisle had gone on to save lives.

"You changed Esme the same year I was turned," I said a moment later, trying to rid myself of my melancholy, but I still felt it there, beneath the surface. "I picked that up from her thoughts earlier."

"So you're physically twenty."

"Yes."

"You do look older than when you were in the hospital." He nodded. "How did you come to drink from animals?"

I gave a sideways smile. "I doubt you'd believe me, even if I told you."

"Ah, you never know. You'll have to share the story with me sometime."

"Perhaps."

We spoke then about how the Cullens had come to Forks in 2003, at—rather unsurprisingly—Alice's request; how they carried out humanlike lives or jobs in the small communities they dared live in. I couldn't decide if their elaborate façade was brilliant or utterly pointless.

"Haven't people noticed your lack of aging?" I asked.

"They have," Carlisle said with a frown, "but Alice assures us we have time yet."

"Time enough for Charlie."

"And Bella."

We watched each other closely as I said, "Bella told me that she got to know you because of her injury after a car accident." That could hardly explain all the personal time the Cullens spent with the Swans _now_.

"Ah, yes. And did she tell you _everything_?"

I felt a knot of dread in my stomach, the same knot I'd felt when Bella had told me the story. "She told me about what she thought she saw…"

"And you want to know if she actually saw it, if that's why we're involved."

I nodded. "I want to know if she saw what I _think_ she did."

_Vampire._ He sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Bella had said once that she'd had a stroke of bad luck after moving to Forks—car accidents, cuts and bruises, even broken bones that required casts and surgeries. I'd not expected her luck to be bad enough for vampires, however. "One of your coven?" I asked, almost hoping that it was. The Cullens didn't feel as threatening as the nomads I'd met in the past—compared to who _I_ was in the past.

Carlisle shook his head, which continued to be filled with foreign languages. He was _almost_ as good at keeping me out as Alice was, but even the flashes of other thought that so rarely slipped through were worthless to me. "Nomads," he said. "They passed through shortly after Bella came to Forks."

"Was the nomad after her? Was she planning to harm Bella?"

"No. No, as you might guess, if any of it had been on purpose, Bella likely wouldn't be with us now."

What a small comfort.

"What actually happened?"

"It might surprise you."

"Try me," I said wryly. Then again, after learning of my entwined past with Bella and her mother, anything was fucking possible.

"Well, then," Carlisle began, "I believe it's time you know that this area is somewhat of an anomaly when it comes to the supernatural."

"What do you mean?" _Don't tell me there are other covens._

"Vampires aren't the only supernatural creature in the region," he answered. "There are werewolves, too."

I'd not been expecting _that_ one. There was a small pause before I burst out laughing. "Werewolves?" I said between chuckles. "We're quite far north, you know. Are Santa and his elves afoot, too?"

Though the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, Carlisle didn't laugh with me.

My own laughter died down. _Damn._

"You're being _serious_. There are _werewolves_?"

Why did I get the feeling that, despite being a century old, I knew absolutely nothing?

"Believe it or not, Edward, we don't have a monopoly on the supernatural."

I stared at the golden lines of the Oriental rug my chair was on, my head spinning with the possibilities. "I never thought… It's strange enough that _we_ exist." We were abominations. I looked back at him. "Don't you think?"

"Strange, perhaps, and yet clearly not impossible." He smiled in a patient, understanding sort of way that almost got under my skin.

"And the werewolves… They're here, in this town?" In a place named after a utensil, for crying out loud.

"Something related to werewolves," he answered. "Some of the natives of the nearby Quileute reservation have what I suppose could be called a _wolf gene_ that's activated when vampires are in the area. They're more shape-shifters than werewolves. They mostly control their shifting, which begins at puberty, and the 'phasing'—as they call it—is not dependent on lunar cycles."

He cocked his head to the side. "I wonder…" Relaxing his mind of what I thought was a translation of the Hippocratic Oath, I was suddenly treated to a clear memory of an abnormally tall, brown-skinned man jumping into midair. The man's body seemed to stretch and crack, burst and reform until it had tripled in size. By the time he landed on the ground and ran into the woods, he was on all fours and covered in black fur.

A wolf.

"Were you able to see that?" Carlisle asked, sounding a little excited. _Your mind reading is an amazing gift._ Then, annoyingly, he returned to foreign languages.

"Yes," I replied, glaring at him. It was going to take time for me to accept that other vampires knew of my ability.

"That was Sam Uley," he said, ignoring my disgruntlement. "He was the first of his generation to shape-shift when we came to Forks, and he was chasing the vampire that led to Bella's accident. At that point, the nomad hadn't done anything in the area to warrant the chase, but I believe it was purely instinctual for him. When he made it to the 101, the vampire was far ahead, and Bella's truck was turned over in the ditch. He left the chase to get her help."

"He was _chasing_ the nomad?" I almost laughed. What a dumb mutt.

Carlisle nodded. "Oh, yes. Don't underestimate them. The Quileutes consider themselves protectors of their tribe against the _Cold Ones_, and they're not mistaken, either. Maybe you're unaware of the legends, but the jaws of a werewolf are one of the few things that can quite easily tear us apart."

"I thought those were just stories." It seemed fair of nature to give us a natural enemy, but I'd always assumed we were at the very top of the food chain. Maybe we shared the throne with these wolves.

"Most would think _we're_ but stories," he said with a faint smile.

Touché.

"How does your coven survive, living so near to them?" I'd not driven that close to the reservation, but I'd seen it on the map. The Cullens essentially had enemies for neighbors. Maybe the mutts weren't the only idiotic ones.

"We have a treaty with them."

"A treaty?" With wolves. Fantastic.

He explained, "They protect their lands in La Push, we protect our property, and we can come and go from Forks, so long as we adhere to one rule."

"Which is?"

"No biting into human flesh." He eyed me closely. "You clearly share our dietary choice at the moment, but can we trust that you will adhere to it? It's important that you do so, if we're to avoid nothing short of a war with the wolves—and they _do_ outnumber us."

"I haven't fed from humans directly in twenty-one years." _Because of the girl upstairs_, I thought, but didn't mention. "I…took donor blood until I figured out we could drink animal blood a few years ago." He nodded thoughtfully, and I went back to the subject of werewolves. "Seems like a lot of trouble, staying here."

"It can be, but living by the wolves gives us further reason to commit to our lifestyle. Some members of my family struggle more with the bloodlust than others."

I raised a brow at this. "Which ones?"

"None that are here now," he answered vaguely, his eyes not leaving mine.

I opened my mouth to question him further, but he continued, deftly bowling over the subject. "My family and I lived in this region once before, during the thirties. At the time, we made a treaty with Ephraim Black, the tribal chief and a shape-shifter. His grandson, Jacob, is in the wolf pack, but he's not the leader. Sam has assumed that role, perhaps since he was the first to shift." Carlisle folded his hands before him. "It's Sam who has very graciously added you to our treaty, as per our request."

"I'm protected by your treaty?"

He nodded. "We negotiated this with the pack on your behalf after Alice told us you were the one to purchase the house from Esme."

I was stunned that the Cullens would bother, but I didn't go so far as to thank him. "Why?"

"Because they might hunt you otherwise, as Sam went after the nomad, and because Alice insists you're important to our family. She says you won't betray us or this diet, that you have good intentions."

"And everyone trusts Alice," I said, a bitter edge in my voice.

He didn't hesitate with his reply. "We do, yes, and I'm certainly hoping she's not wrong in her assessment of you."

"You have my word. I won't bite a human." I ignored the red-eyed Bella that flitted through my thoughts. _Selfish_, _so selfish._

"Good. That would be greatly appreciated by all, I should think."

I contemplated this before something else Carlisle had said punched me in the gut. I leaned forward in my chair. "Wait a moment. Did you say _Jacob_ Black?" My mind immediately connected the dots, and I didn't like the finished image at all. In his thoughts, Charlie had called the tan-skinned boy from Bella's past Jacob.

"Has Bella mentioned him?"

"No, but Charlie's thought about him." About that child's big, dopey grin as he clung onto Bella.

"They had a brief relationship, from my understanding," Carlisle stated carefully, as if he thought I was about have the first-ever case of vampire apoplexy.

There was a chance he was right.

"In other words, Bella dated a werewolf."

"It was before he shifted."

"Oh, well, that just makes _all_ the difference, doesn't it?" I growled.

"It does, actually," Carlisle said, his voice calm. "He was just a human boy when they were together. The wolves have a mechanism not unlike our own that mates them for life. They know it as imprinting. Bella has never spoken to any of us about her relationship with Jacob, but I assume that he imprinted after shifting, and thus their relationship ended rather abruptly."

"He left her—just like that?" Filthy mutt. Still, I was glad he was out of the way, and this new information explained some of Bella's insecurities.

"They can't control it, no more than you or I." Carlisle smiled somewhat sadly.

I looked at him in confusion, and he lifted a brow.

"What—" I stopped when I realized what he was implying—that Bella was _my_ mate. That I felt love for her was not in question, but to be _mated_ to a _human_? Was that even possible?

My shock must have been evident on my face, because Carlisle openly laughed at my expense. "Alice told us as much, but I would have known after tonight. It hadn't occurred to you that she might be your mate?"

"I— No." I didn't know why it hadn't, but it hadn't.

_Mating_. If there was little I knew about my species at large, there was even less I knew about the finer, more nebulous details such as this. I knew we mated as some birds did—for life, forever. Our bond was intense, uncontrollable, wild and…irreversible. Could a human understand or experience such a bond? I knew humans were occasionally changed for the sake of mating, but surely most of the bond took place after equality had been attained. After newborn bloodlust had worn off.

"Bella's…human," I stated somewhat dully, as if Carlisle were unaware.

He shrugged one shoulder. "It happens. I knew with Esme before I ever changed her. I first met her when she was sixteen—she'd fallen out of tree, had broken her leg. I knew even then, though I of course didn't act on it. She was lovely—is, too." He smiled.

"Actually, Edward," he said, his tone losing all dreaminess as he turned decidedly academic, "it seems to me that most vampires find human mates, not vampire mates. This usually drives us to turn them. There are exceptions to this, of course, but I believe it to be our form of reproduction, the way our species continues itself, despite our inability to breed in the more traditional sense."

He went on, going into great detail about what he'd observed in our kind over the centuries—he'd apparently been turned in the 1600s and knew a thing or two. Normally, I'd find the discussion interesting, but I wasn't listening now, despite my nods and words of encouragement, such as "oh, really, is that so?"

Part of my brain catalogued every word he said, but my attention was elsewhere.

I'd known he was right as soon as he'd said it. I was mated to Bella, and the tragedy of that was palpable. While she might not come stamped with an expiration date, she certainly had one, just as her dying father did. I could never change her, subject her to this eternity of burning hunger… Could I?

Surely not.

Should I even want to, I was apparently now in the one place I readily knew I _couldn't_ bite a human, unless I wanted to break treaties and wrestle with oversized canines who apparently could make quick work of me. To top it all off, the werewolves had a personal history with Bella, in particular. Wonderful. At least that made the decision simple, and yet, at the same time, it was upsetting to have the choice stolen from me before I'd had time to consider it.

Not that there was much to consider. I could never tell Bella the truth of what I was, let alone _change_ her. I'd always been selfish, giving into pleasure when I shouldn't—a sinner at heart. I was selfish now, interfering with Bella's life when I knew our relationship couldn't last. I loved her, though—deeply—and that could perhaps make me less selfish than usual. I wouldn't subject her to this existence. I was late in making selfless decisions, but I would do for Bella as Carlisle had done for me. I would leave her human.

She deserved better than I could give, and one day, I'd have to step aside as a better man took my place.

* * *

When I went to the third floor to check on Bella, I found her in a guestroom, tucked between the sheets of a massive bed. A puffy, golden comforter covered her. At some point, she'd curled into a tight ball and fisted her hands under her chin. She slept this way sometimes—when anxious, I thought. The pillowcase beneath her head had a large wet spot from tears, and I could smell their salt, along with her own unique scent. Venom trickled, and I swallowed until my mouth was clear of the excess.

Esme came up beside me. "She'll be all right, dear. Let her rest for now."

"I wish I knew what to do." I felt so ill-equipped to be so old. All the years of hunting humans, reading thoughts and body language—none of it had prepared me for this woman.

Esme stared at me, calculating. "What you can do first is hunt. That will help you think—clear your head a bit."

I stared longingly at Bella, wanting to join her, even if I couldn't sleep. The bed would be warm and smell of her… "I—"

"Don't worry, Carlisle and I will be here while you're gone. Alice can keep you company. It's time she hunted as well." Esme reached forward and closed the bedroom door, blocking off my view of Bella.

"But I—"

Esme was quite the force to be reckoned with. "No buts. Your eyes are too dark. If you were to harm one hair on that poor girl's head, I would come after you, I'll have you know." She was petite, only a little taller than Bella, but when she poked a finger into my chest, I felt it.

"I would sooner harm myself," I said honestly.

"Even so, go hunt."

With Esme's hand all but shoving me down three flights of stairs, I made it to the front door, where Alice was waiting with a big, unnerving grin on her face. "Come on," she said, and it came out a lot like a whine. Then she was out the door, dashing into the darkness.

I paused at the doorway. Was I really about to leave Bella in the protection of these vampires? I looked back at Esme to find that Carlisle had joined her in the living room. It seemed they were about to settle down and watch television. There were _Law & Order_ DVDs on the coffee table.

Sighing, I reminded myself once more of how many times Bella _had_ been left in their company and care. I realized, in fact, that I owed them for watching over her and Charlie. With nomads afoot, and Bella's scent being nothing short of mouth-watering, I maybe even owed the fucking wolves that I'd only just discovered existed.

I stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind me.

"You're catching on," Alice said sometime later as we walked through the woods at an unhurried pace. "'No man is an island' and all that jazz." A map of Brazil and a pristine island beach flashed through her thoughts. I wasn't sure if she was trying to relate the imagery with what was being said, be humorous or confuse me. She was probably trying to do all three.

I was exhausted mentally. "Alice, what is it you want with me? You've clearly got your whole cov—_family_ up to something."

Her reply was odd.

"I had my first vision of you in the thirties," she said.

I stopped, and she stopped beside me. What was I to make of that declaration? "What do you mean? I didn't think your ability worked that way."

"If you think I understand half of what goes on in my head, you're wrong," she said with a tinkling laugh, as if essentially pronouncing oneself insane were normal.

"Could you at least try to explain it?" I asked.

"I really bug you, don't I?" She smirked, immensely pleased by this.

"A bit." The teasing edge to my voice surprised me.

"A _lot_."

A grin tugged at my mouth. "Less than before."

"Aren't you sweetest thing?" she teased back in a distinct southern accent that I'd not heard in years. She unexpectedly linked her arm with mine. With our extreme differences in height, it made walking awkward, but neither of us made to pull away. It usually felt strange to be touched, particularly by another vampire, but somehow I didn't mind it this time.

"Decisions are funny things," Alice said after a while, and her voice was more somber than I'd ever heard it—or ever had expected to hear it. "Most of the time, people make a decision, and really only one thing _clearly_ results from it. Say you decide to drive to Vancouver to go shopping. The direct result of that might be that you'll need to stop for gas along the way. Not much mystery there. That's ninety-nine percent of what's in my head. My visions are mostly simple things—stuff that I think anyone could figure out if they gave it a bit of thought."

That sounded almost as boring as the mental drivel I had to suffer through. Almost.

I nodded wordlessly, too surprised that she was revealing intimate details of her ability to say anything. I didn't know how the Cullens did things, but sharing information about an ability, if you had one, could be a death wish in the nomadic world. For Alice to share information took a considerable amount of trust…in me.

"There are more complicated visions," she continued. "I can only actively look into the futures of people I've met, but sometimes—at random—I'm shown things beyond my control. I don't know why. That's just the way of it. Maybe they affect me or someone I know. Like when someone decides to write a book, I may see a resulting war. Details may change over a long course of time, but the end result has a high probability of staying the same when I have a vision like that. You wouldn't think two things that different could be well linked, but they can be. Like when Hitler read Martin Luther's _Von den Juden and ihren Lügen_." She saw my uncertainty and translated. "_On the Jews and Their Lies_. Not one of humanity's finer moments, I've got to say."

"Are you suggesting that one book _caused—_"

"Pretty much, and that book was written even before Carlisle's time, but it affected humans' of the modern era."

"That's…" I didn't really know how to process it.

"Beyond our control? Chaotic?" she said with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Well, yes."

She nodded. "It is, I guess. My head makes sense of it, though. Mostly." She looked up at the stars that freckled the blue-black sky. Damp from an endless mist, her short hair fell back in clumps and strands. "I was crazy as a human—or so I guess my family thought I was. Maybe I had visions even back then. My human brain probably couldn't handle all the chaos that this one can. I was in an asylum."

"Is that where Carlisle changed you?"

She looked back at me. "No—Carlisle didn't change me—but I don't really know anything. I have no human memory." She laughed. "There's probably no room for it, even in this better brain."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I was turned in 1920. Carlisle thinks I'm physically nineteen, but I don't know. I don't think I look a day over sixteen, do you?" She smirked and batted her lashes jokingly.

"So you were around for World War II, then." She nodded, and I considered this for a time.

Though I'd been a war-hungry boy myself, human wars seemed distant now, unimportant when millennia stretched out beneath my feet. I viewed it as one would a war film—actors on fields with toy guns and fake, unappetizing blood—but then most humans viewed the world wars that way now; time did that to humanity. What was very real and bloody and painful for one generation was merely a paragraph of text in a history book for another. Humanity paid dearly for its short-term memory.

"I saw a lot of things I didn't want to see back then," Alice whispered, her voice was hollow. "My gift isn't always fun." She sighed, but then she perked herself up and squeezed my arm. "The point I'm making with all this is that the most obscure things can sometimes be connected quite clearly in the universal scheme of things if everything's lined up _just so_. Sometimes I get visions that are a result of that—something that the Chaos understands that I don't yet, but will. Even if I don't understand what I see at first. But I _always_ trust my visions."

I thought of how Bella's indecision at the card games made Alice's visions inaccurate, but I didn't voice my skepticism. I knew she was right most of the time, at least in the little things I'd witnessed thus far. I wouldn't bet against her, and I'd certainly been a gambling man over the years to know a thing or two about betting.

"So a random decision I or someone else made led you to see me in the thirties?" I finally asked.

"Yes." Images flashed so rapidly through her mind that I couldn't hold onto them.

"Have you been keeping tabs on me?" I questioned. "Have you known everything I was doing—was going to do?" What exactly had she seen over the years, the _decades_?

"No," she said, soothing me somewhat, "but I knew we needed to meet. But our meeting had to come at the right time—a safe time." She let go of my arm and stared straight ahead as we jumped over a rotten cedar tree that had fallen to the forest floor. "I've been trying to get to you for years—I came really close to finding a right time in the seventies—but until Bella came into the equation, the times and places were never _completely_ right—too dangerous."

"I don't understand," I admitted, my frustration evident.

A small smile crept up on her face. "Maybe you're not _meant_ to understand everything yet. Even if that drives you crazy."

"So you're going to withhold information from me—_about_ me?" I frowned at her.

"If I have to," she said.

"I can accept your ability, but not the way you attempt to control the future—particularly mine. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop that now."

"_Please_." She snorted. "I may not sleep, but I don't have time to control _anyone's_ future—not really. I've never tried to control yours. I've just…worked _around_ it. For the good of everyone."

Round and round we went in a threaded mess of riddles. "And what does that mean?"

Her eyes glazed over, and I knew she was seeing something—perhaps evaluating what would be best to say to me—but somehow she buried the vision beneath everything else in her mind. I realized then that she would have had decades to practice this if she'd wanted, to prepare for me and my mind reading. It was no wonder she was good at it.

She answered me when her eyes regained focus. There was a fire in them. "It means you need to trust me."

"I hardly know you," I scoffed.

"You know me better now," she replied, and then, just as it was the first time we'd spoken in the woods by Charlie's house, she seemed to independently decide our conversation was over. Her head snapped toward the east. "Carnivores" was the last thing she said before darting away. It was such an abrupt change that it took me a moment to register her words and actions.

I'd never hunted animals with another vampire—I couldn't say the same for hunting humans—but there was something oddly satisfying in knowing I wouldn't be alone tonight. I took off after Alice. She was laughing ahead of me, weaving between trees like a will-o'-the-wisp.

Beneath my feet, mud, moss and leaves whirled up, coating my shoes and jeans. Scents of the forest—green death and green life—filled my senses. Soon, I heard it.

_Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub._

Two separate beats, the gushing blood of two animals.

Alice was directly in front of me now, and I reached out, grabbing hold of her side. I shoved her to the left—not too roughly, but to get her out of my path—and she went flying through the air with a growl that easily morphed into a laugh. She landed on the balls of her feet in a crouch, only stopping long enough to regain her balance before she ran back at me. Our play felt somehow natural.

She shoved at my side. I laughed as her fingers grasped at air as I narrowly dodged her advance. I jumped past her, vaulted off of a low-hanging tree branch and landed in a clearing with a creek bed. Then I smelled them—bobcats.

I stilled on all fours as I saw the felines at the far end of the clearing. They were magnificent, prowling creatures, but I could only envision them as food at that point. I was thirsty and tired of denying my nature. My muscles twitched beneath my skin, eager for the kill.

Alice crouched beside me. "You can have the one at right," she whispered, and I noted how her thoughts had coalesced into one concern: the hunt.

The two bobcats were broad-shouldered beasts, though the one at left, a female, was smaller. It was mating season, and they were a pair. Their individual coats of black-spotted silver and black-spotted gold shone under the moonlight. Yellow eyes turned toward us leisurely, confidently, and I focused on the cat at the right. The forest stilled and narrowed until it was just this cat and I—beast to beast, predator to prey. Sensing that something was going awry, he let out a low hiss. I smiled, baring all teeth, as that part of me—the part I so often tried to conceal—surfaced. The madness consumed all else, as it always did. It possessed me ruthlessly.

Each fluttering heartbeat sang to me, and with my senses fully open, I could almost taste blood on the air. I hungered for the _life_ within.

I couldn't be sure who leapt first, but in the space of a breath, paws landed on my chest. With morbid pleasure, I grappled against fur and knotted muscle. He snarled by my ear as we fell to the ground in a braided tangle of spotted gray and porcelain white. The muddy earth was soft beneath my back.

Though there was truly no fight to be had between us, I wrestled with the creature for a time, enjoyed the sensation of his claws as they scraped ineffectually across my skin. When I'd had enough, I felt for vertebrae beneath my fingertips. I pressed in, clamped down until I heard a satisfying, meaty snap—a _clitch!_ sound. A broken spine. The cat fell limply onto my chest, and I shoved his head to one side so I could bury my teeth into his twitching jugular.

I groaned as blood gushed into my mouth in a thick, warm stream. Some trickled past my lips and rolled down my neck as I sucked long after the body was drawn and empty.

There were no beating hearts left in the clearing as I rose to my feet with a sigh and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. My wrist came away bloody.

Alice stood several feet away, picking at her nails. Other than her wilted hair from the humidity, she didn't look at all out of sorts—no specks of blood or wrinkled clothes to suggest she'd just taken down a wildcat over half her size. She glanced up at me, her eyes shifting up and down my whole, disheveled appearance. "You kind of suck at this—no pun intended."

I looked down at myself. My jeans were wet and muddy up to the knee, which only served to match my torn and bloodstained shirt. I sighed. All in all, it was a normal hunting trip for me. I rubbed the back of my neck. "Uh, you don't happen to have a change of—"

"Waiting for you in the guest bathroom."

There were advantages to knowing someone who could see into the future.

Two flavorless deer later, we turned back toward the Cullen mansion. When we were nearly there, Alice's steps slowed, and her eyes took on that hazy gloss again. We stopped in the woods, and I rested a hand on her shoulder. "Everything all right?" It seemed appropriate to ask, given she might be witnessing anything from someone purchasing gas to the events of World War III.

She returned to the present. "Bella's going to have a nightmare. If we hurry, you can help her through it, and she won't wake."

We ran to the house. I wanted to rush to the third floor, so I could be there when Bella's nightmare began, but Esme was adamant that I remove my soiled shoes and roll up my pant legs. That done with a considerable amount of admittedly unreasonable complaining on my part, I sped up the stairway.

As I reached the third floor, I heard Bella's heart rate change. A frightening stutter preceded a rush of blood and a frantic drumbeat.

_Edward!_ Alice called to me in her mind.

But it was too late. I'd snatched the bedroom door open—too quickly, too loudly. _I _might be silent, but doors weren't unless one took particular care with opening them. Bella bolted upright in bed, and I stood frozen—dirt and blood covering me.

Bella blinked in the darkness as her heart steadied. "Edward, is that you?"

"I'm here," I whispered, wide-eyed and petrified of moving. "Go back to sleep."

"Why aren't you in bed?" She reached for a bedside lamp.

"Don't!" I softened my voice. "No need to wake. I don't need the light. Just…one moment."

As quickly as I could under her bleary gaze, I rushed into the connecting bathroom. The door shut with a click, and I leaned against it, panting. What if she'd seen me? I couldn't be so careless, not if I expected to spend the next couple of months with her—longer, if I was able.

There were clothes on the bathroom vanity: underclothes, a white shirt, a pair of jeans and shorts of a soft material that I assumed Alice thought I'd "sleep" in.

Well. She just thought of everything, didn't she?

"Thank you, Alice," I called softly, at a frequency only our kind would hear.

_No problem!_ she thought in reply, far too comfortable with silent conversation.

After removing twigs and leaves from my hair, and rinsing off in the shower, I changed into the shorts; and not wanting to risk Bella seeing my ghastly clothes, stuffed them in a cabinet. Esme probably wouldn't be too pleased to find them. Hopefully I would have an opportunity to remove them myself before Bella and I left for Port Angeles in the morning.

Bella was still awake when I climbed into bed. As always, she curled up to me, even though my solid form and coldness should deter her. I made sure her head was on my shoulder, away from my unnaturally silent heart. "Are you all right?" I asked, brushing tangles from her hair. "You seemed frightened when I came in."

She sighed. "I think I was beginning to have another nightmare. I'll be fine, though." She paused, seemingly to gather her thoughts. "I'm sorry about earlier tonight…"

"No need to apologize." I pulled her closer. "I'm sorry about your father."

"I know," she whispered. "Thank you. I'm—I'm glad you're with me."

We were quiet as we lay together, each of us lost in our thoughts, our hands gentle on one another. A slender leg hooked over one of mine after a time; toes stretched against my calf muscle, making it twitch.

"Oh," Bella said with a small, groggy chuckle. "You don't have pants on."

I closed my eyes and held back a laugh as her cheek grew warm against my shoulder. "Well, there are shorts," I said. They were doing nothing to hide my growing predicament, either. Soft material, indeed.

"Yeah, I meant shorts."

Bella snuggled closer and ran her toes up and down the inside of my right leg. Her every move was sensual to me, a living mystery I wanted to unravel, but this… Her touch was almost too much, directly after hunting. I was left staring at the ceiling, counting every third prime number backward from ten thousand as I resisted urges I had no right to have. _Not if she's to survive_, I reminded myself, as countless women paraded in my memory—countless women whose blood I'd taken. Sobering thoughts.

"I like how cold you are," Bella said against my neck, sounding more alert.

I shook my head. "You shouldn't, you know." I didn't understand why she did.

She shrugged. "Doesn't stop me." Her fingers trailed through the hair on my chest. "Is it weird having circulation problems? Do you even _like_ that I'm warm?" she asked. Her finger brushed over my nipple, and it took me several seconds to process what she'd said.

I took a deep, grounding breath. "Bella, I love everything about you." Her heart spluttered a bit, and I wondered if I'd said too much.

She tilted her head up. "Kiss me?" she whispered, her voice sweet and enticing.

I turned into her, our bodies pressed close. But I tilted my hips back, even as I imagined her hands on my cock, as I imagined making love to her… Our mouths met, and I groaned into the deepening kiss. So warm.

She curled her tongue around mine. "You taste salty," she said, pulling away.

I froze for the second time this night. _Blood._

Bracing her foot against my leg, she scooted closer until our hips were almost touching. "It's good," she said, and licked her lips.

_Fuck._

I stared at her, perversely intrigued. She had _no _idea that she was tasting blood. She shouldn't like it, but she stared at my mouth like she wanted more—of me, of it, I didn't know—and thoughts flew through my mind. Thoughts of sharing this part of my existence with her, thoughts of her lean and hard and cold and savagely bloodthirsty.

_Mine forever._

An impossibility. As it should be.

I swallowed hard, thinking that it might very well take werewolves to keep me in line at this point, and forced myself to pull back as she leaned in. I wanted to rip her clothes off. I wanted to possess and fuck her. My body ached with it, ached with denying too many instincts at once. Surely I wouldn't survive this slow burn.

She stilled. "Am I…overwhelming you again?"

I breathed out a laugh. "You could say that."

"But you _do_ want me?"

How was it she needed to ask? "God, yes."

Even in the darkness, her eyes seemed to take on a new light, a determined fire. "Then _have_ me."

Downstairs, the Cullens quietly slipped out of their house. They were giving us privacy; they had far too much faith in me after just one hunt. I didn't know if that was good or bad. The flush on Bella's cheeks, which traveled down her neck and disappeared beneath the line of her shirt made it difficult for me to think logically—or at least with the part of my body I should be thinking with.

I pressed my forehead to hers and squeezed my eyes shut. "Bella, we _can't_ do this," I said, my voice catching on my agony. I gave her as much of the truth as possible. "I'm not good enough for you." _I'll hurt you, as I've hurt all the others._

All the women of the past…their bodies had been too closely tied to blood. I had set a precedent, formed a habit when it came to human women, one that might end Bella's life in the heat of the moment. There had always been a safety before: harming them hadn't mattered, because they would die by my hand, anyway. This—Bella—was different. I couldn't possibly risk her, simply to get my rocks off.

"You're _ridiculous_," she replied.

I opened my eyes, needing to see her expression. A curious smile played on her lips. "The night seems to make you bold," I said, unable to contain a smile of my own.

She half-shrugged as she leaned in and trailed kisses along my face, to my ear. "I've never felt like this…so strongly. I care about you," she whispered. "It's not wrong for me to want to show that. Is it?"

I puzzled over her words, trying to decipher all possible meanings. With Bella, I'd learned there was a great deal of editing by the time she actually opened her mouth to speak. Reading between the lines was essential.

_I've never felt like this. I care about you._

My heart clenched. Did she love me? It wasn't right for her to, but then her lips met mine, and I gave into her with a sigh; began to give into a frail, but growing hope that she might share some of the feelings I could barely hold.

Bella reached between us and began unbuttoning her shirt. I opened my eyes into our kiss and groaned before pulling away. "What are you doing?" I said, knowing perfectly well as I stared at the fleshy curve of her partially exposed breast.

What would I do to her if she was naked before me? Everything, surely. Would I be able to stop? Would I take her life?

"I want to feel good with you." She sucked her lip beneath her teeth and tilted her hips toward mine. And suddenly _there_ we were—her overheated lower body to my cool one. The shorts hid nothing. My cock was obviously wedged between us.

Before I could even process what was happening, we both moaned and pushed closer. Bella's fingers traveled up my neck, into my hair, where she gripped the strands. I'd never before been thankful for the unkempt hair I'd had before I was changed, but she put an interesting spin on things. _Pull harder_, I wanted to say, but somehow managed to swallow the request.

"I want to feel _alive_," she whispered, a hint of wild desperation in her voice, her eyes suddenly glassy.

I cupped a hand to her cheek. "Bella?"

"_Please_."

How one word could so thoroughly cripple me, I didn't know. But what I did know was that she hadn't asked anything of me when she'd grieved and wept, but this…this she wanted.

She wanted _me_. She wanted to feel _alive_ with me. I had to give her—us—_something_.

Our hips shifted back and forth without an immediate destination in mind, rustling the sheets above and between us. I grabbed her rear and pulled her closer, angled her toward me. A delicious, painful friction accompanied our erratic breathing and Bella's pounding pulse. And I smelled a heavenly scent—sweet and hormone-laden and altogether hers. It was in the air, on my tongue. She wanted me, as I wanted her.

Sliding my hand from her bottom, along curves of hip and waist, I cupped her left breast, rested my fingers on the throbbing flesh above her heart. I was shaking, afraid I'd hurt her, afraid she'd reject me…

We stared at each other as I pulled in an unnecessary breath. "I love you," I whispered on the exhale, because I couldn't contain it, even if what we had could only ever be temporary.

The words hung.

Bella tensed, and I tensed with her.

_No._

I drew my hand from her breast and placed it over my own, as if to contain myself from spilling over. I was breaking beneath the saccade of intense, brown eyes. _Don't reject me_, I thought, even as I knew she should do that very thing. It would be _right_ for her to reject me. It would be superb, cosmic justice.

But then, as Bella so often did, she surprised me. Breaking into a brilliant smile, she threw herself against me, hooking her leg over my hip in an effort to get closer. She hugged her arms around my neck with a shocking force for such a relatively small human, and the sweetest music played in my ear. "I think I love you, too," she said. Her breath was uneven. "I know I do."

_She loves me._ A mate. A partner.

My eyes burned with tears I couldn't shed, joining in with pain caused by her blood and body. "How?" I asked, because I truly did not understand.

She backed away enough to look me in the eyes. A tear was rolling down her cheek, and I kissed it away. "Because I think you're good for me, whether you think that or not."

"Bella…" I turned her body beneath mine, gently pressed her into the mattress. At first she avoided my gaze, but then she stared back with determined, _loving_ eyes. Our hips continued to move—push and circle—but I was careful, always cautiously, consciously aware.

She was breathless beneath me."Are we…"

"Not tonight," I said against her lips, while inwardly judging that _that_ would never be an option for us. I'd never gone so far with a human before. I wasn't willing to test that on Bella. "But…" I leaned up on my hands and looked down at her. Her hair was fanned out along the pillow. The bed linens had fallen to the bottom of the bed, revealing the jeans she'd fallen asleep in; her legs were spread wide to accompany my hips. I stared at the seam between her thighs.

"Edward?"

I forced my gaze back to her face. "Maybe I can make you feel good," I said. If I was careful. If I didn't confuse one lust with another.

She bit her lip, poorly hiding a smile, and her heart sped up.

My fingers rested on the top button of her shirt. "You must tell me if I hurt you." The words were awkward, far from romantic, but paramount.

Bella's gaze was steady. "You won't hurt me."

"Bella…"

"You _won't_," she insisted with a shake of her head. "I don't even know why you think you would. I mean, I'm not…inexperienced. But I'll tell you if anything…feels, er, _wrong_." I nodded, somewhat mollified, even if she didn't understand my reservations.

In my state of fear and lust and excitement, removing clothing at a human pace turned out to be difficult enough that Bella had to help with buttons and zippers. But when all was said and done, we lay together in only gray boxers and purple panties that said it was Thursday, instead of Sunday. I grinned at her, feeling somehow shy, despite how many times I'd seen naked women, despite my own sexual experience—minor though it may have been. My skin tingled. Perhaps it was that for the first time in my very long and lonely existence, this _mattered_. She mattered.

And I could very well fuck it all up if I wasn't careful.

We spoke in quiet voices and comforting touches, both afraid, it seemed, of shattering peace, of returning to what lay outside in a world governed by death. With fearful hands, I touched her, trailed fingers down the curves of breasts and hips; marveled at skin that peaked and puckered and came alive, rather than perished, beneath my hands. Pale gray moonlight spilled into the room from the floor-to-ceiling window on the southern wall, lending an ivory quality to Bella's already light-colored skin. She looked like me, I realized, and this was such a surprisingly lovely and painful thought that I buried the feelings away as swiftly as possible.

Her hand slid downward, slipped into boxers to wrap around me, and I allowed it against my better judgment, because I seemed incapable of doing anything else. I wanted her to touch me; I was hers to touch. For all her desire to be physically closer, she was shy as she explored me, her cheeks and breasts tinged pink.

We faced each other on our sides, and I mirrored her eventually, finding my own hand caught between fevered flesh and the thin, cotton covering that did nothing to keep me away. She was slick beneath my touch, a writhing specter before my eyes.

As I touched her, I some of my fear subsided. This, at least, I could give us—_right_? Knowing this, I felt more powerful than ever before, though I was yet held back by my self-restraint.

"Oh, like _that_," I gasped and begged when her fingers tightened. Her touch was still light to my hard skin, but it was furnace warm—and it was _her_. It was so much better than when I did it. Than when anyone else had ever touched me.

"_Yes_," she moaned, lifting her hips up off the bed.

A tension set upon us as we writhed together in a tight embrace, until we were strings pulled taut. I held twitching lips to Bella's pulse as my fingers sunk into wet flesh, as her hand gripped and slid up and down. Her scent lay heavy in the room, on the sheets, on me. I could almost taste her blood. I could feel it rush beneath her paper-thin flesh, racing through her heart and lower.

And then it happened—the string broke, as all taut strings must.

She cried out and arched her back, elongated her neck as her breasts pushed against my chest. It was this touch of sweat and warmth and life that broke me. I tore my hands away from her as pleasure stole over me. This release was intense, long, a much-needed exhale after weeks of holding my breath. A wrought iron bar from the bed frame silently bent in my hand as my vision blurred for a split second—so quickly that I wondered if it happened at all.

"Are you all right?" I whispered minutes later, still not fully myself.

"Better than all right."

My body relaxed further, and I allowed myself to smile. I felt like I could _almost_ sleep. She wasn't hurt. We'd survived. Quite well, even, judging by her moans.

Breathing somewhat unevenly, I looked at Bella. She was staring down between us, at her hand, where it rested low on my stomach. I looked with her, at the glistening venom that was on her fingers and wrist and on the sheets. It looked _normal_, though I knew it wasn't.

Suddenly she let out a strange laugh that caught in the middle, as if she were trying to hold it back as an afterthought. "What is it?" I asked, feeling myself laugh with her. I felt almost lightheaded.

"It's just…" She let out another half-laugh. "It's _cold_."

"Oh." I frowned, a little disgusted on her behalf.

Shaking her head, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to clean up."

It was nearly dawn when we'd both cleaned and returned to bed. We seemed more relaxed, and I hoped it remained that way—that Bella would perhaps stop pushing for more, that _I_ would perhaps stop wanting more. "Sleep," I told her as she curled into me. "We don't have to leave for a few hours yet."

Nodding and yawning, she tucked her head into the crook of my neck. "Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"You're going to tell me the whole truth soon—whatever it is."

I didn't answer her. I only sighed and began to hum her lullaby.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ With moving, the holidays and a big work project, I may be a little bit slower with my updates until the New Year. Don't worry, though. I always write._


	15. The Art of Saying Goodbye

**_Author's Notes (December 15, 2010):_**_ Thanks to the usual culprits, **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**. I'm very lucky to have them. :)_

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm15-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm15-playlist (Music's sort of important in this chapter…)_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 15: THE ART OF SAYING GOODBYE**

* * *

_"Our history is an aggregate of last moments."_

_From "Gravity's Rainbow" by Thomas Pynchon_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
It was just after five in the morning, and Charlie, Carlisle, Edward and I were headed west, bumping along winding, hilly back roads that needed repaving. Exhausted after working an extra shift the day before, I fought sleep against Edward's shoulder as we came up to the pointed toe of Boot Bay. It didn't matter that I was tired, though. I wouldn't miss this fishing trip with Charlie for anything.

No matter how I felt about fishing—for the record, it's boring and messy—I wanted this time with him. To love him, to right old wrongs from fishing trips of the past, where all I'd done was bitch and moan about slimy worms and the mosquitoes that seemed to find me, no matter the season or how much repellant I bathed myself in. Far too aware that this was probably the last fishing trip we'd take, I wouldn't be so immature this time. When you find yourself with a limited number of goodbyes, you don't waste them on pettiness.

With the old boat that Charlie usually kept in storage hitched to the back of the Cullens' Jeep, we made our way to Ozette Lake. It felt weird to go there for fishing, rather than down to La Push, but Charlie hadn't set foot on the reservation since Billy nonchalantly excused Jacob's change of heart in my senior year of high school. Charlie had gone fishing at Ozette Lake ever since, but I'd never been with him. It suited me just fine to go there, though; it probably suited Carlisle, too, given the strained relationship between the Cullens and the Quileutes. I'd never understand what was between them, but I didn't want to be a part of it, if possible.

The scenery surrounding Ozette Lake didn't look all that different to what was around the ponds Charlie used to take me to in La Push. But I was glad that I knew it was in fact a different place. When Charlie was…_gone_, I could freely come here without having to deal with anyone or anything else, to feel his ghost on the water, to see him smiling and at peace. The water, the woods, the earth—those were my father's simple pleasures, and I wanted to think that if there was a life after death, he'd be free to roam the land he so dearly loved. The only thing I wished differently was that he'd have more time in _this_ life for that.

Life isn't fair, though, and—what was that other cliché?—time stands still for no man? It certainly didn't for my father. We had little time left. I could feel it in my bones, a dull, visceral ache.

We drove to a remote part of the bay, where frogs were still leaping in the dewy grass, their bodies occasionally popping up into sight…only to be grotesquely mowed down by the Jeep's massive, all-terrain tires. _Clunk, clunk, clunk_. It was a macabre way to start the morning.

Carlisle expertly backed the boat up to the water using only side mirrors. With its dented front and chipped, sea foam green paint, seeing Charlie's boat hitched to this extravagant monster of a vehicle was comical, but the display felt somehow fitting for our little misfit group.

As Carlisle and Edward prepared the boat, moving tackle boxes, fishing rods and two coolers—one large and bearing drinks, one small with live bait—I sat in the Jeep with Charlie. In the passenger side mirror, I could see his lips pursed in a straight line. He hated letting others do the heavy-lifting. Worse,_ watching_ as it was done was a slow torture. I understood his frustration all too well, having inherited a lot of that independence (and stubbornness), but I also knew he was in no shape to go lifting heavy objects by himself.

Even he knew that now. As if to prove this fact, he shivered and pulled his jacket closer, even though it was toasty warm in the Jeep. It was happening now. The reprieve, the burst of energy after he'd stopped chemo, was wearing off.

"Dad? I have a blanket for you back here." I reached for my backpack, which held an ugly, but very warm, green and red plaid blanket. He waved it off with a hand and gave me what I'd come to think of as the Manly Grunt, an all-purpose sound that I was fairly certain all men over the age of thirty spontaneously acquired.

I sighed and double-checked the items in the bag before tucking the blanket back into place. I'd filled the backpack with the blanket, cough syrup, pain medication, tissues, hand sanitizer and a satellite phone, in case of an emergency. After all, I figured there was no reception on the lake. I'd tried to think of everything when I packed, but I still feared I'd forgotten some item that might make a difference for my father—ease his pain or heal him. Not that I could heal him, no matter how much I wanted to. At least Carlisle was with us if something did go wrong…

My heart pounded as my mind spiraled through the possibilities. How and when he might die. Would it be very painful? Would I be there? Would it happen today? Tomorrow?

And most of all: Why him? Why _my_ father?

There were no answers to these questions. There never were.

"Just need some fresh air is all," Charlie said at random. He pulled in a ragged breath that rattled through his chest, as if the fluid building up in and around his lungs was literally growling at its host. The sound was loud in the quiet confines of the Jeep, and it echoed in my head, joining nightmarish images of my father connected to machines and oxygen. Life support. But was that a life worth living? Was that life at all?

"Fresh air would be good," I agreed, my own voice distant. "I love you, Dad." There weren't enough times left for me to say that.

"Love you, too, Bells."

We were silent as we listened to Edward and Carlisle's muffled speech, catching no words through the monster truck's windows. _Maybe they're bulletproof_, I thought wryly. They looked it.

"You know, I like Edward," Charlie said.

"Oh. Uh…" I felt my face heat up. "Yeah, me too." I looked out the rear windshield, as if to check that no one else could hear this potentially embarrassing chat. The last father-daughter talk Charlie had with me concerning boyfriends had been a rather too-little-too-late sex talk. Thankfully, Edward and Carlisle seemed busy with their own conversation. "He's a really great guy," I added. "I love spending time with him."

"I've noticed." In the side mirror, Charlie's eyes met mine. "He treat you well?"

"Very," I murmured, afraid of where this conversation might be going.

He gave another grunt. "You, uh, thinking he's maybe the one, then?" His voice sounded oddly hopeful.

My blush deepened as I looked down at my lap with a small smile. "Maybe." I didn't exactly have wedding bells ringing in my head, but it'd be a lie to say I'd not secretly considered the tonal qualities of Isabella Marie Masen. Or Edward Anthony Swan. Or Swan-Masen. I was a modern woman, after all—or so I told myself.

Really, I hated that the idea even popped into my head, but it was there, nonetheless—laughing defiantly at my logical side and every cautionary tale Renée had ever told about serious relationships at my age.

"_Maybe_. Uh-huh." He sighed.

"What is it?"

"This isn't easy for me to say…"

I waited, and a knot coiled tightly in my stomach of its own accord.

"Look," he said finally, "I know I told you when you were younger to hold off on the serious stuff until you were—what'd I say?—_thirty_?"

That was the only thing he and Renée had clearly agreed on since their divorce, I thought, even if they'd never very openly argued after the papers were signed.

"I've got a bit more perspective on time since then, though," he continued. "Not sure that was the best advice, so much as the wishful thinking of your old man." He snorted. "Just, when it comes to the big decisions, whenever they come up, know your mind, okay? That's all that matters. Do what's right for you."

"I'll try, Dad," I whispered, hopelessly wishing he'd be with me for the journey.

Satisfied, he smiled. "Good." I watched him look down, but from the backseat, I could see his neck redden. His body language told me he was embarrassed. "No matter what you do, I'll always be proud of you, Bells."

* * *

I stood along the lake shoreline, breathing in misty, spruce and pine scented air. The sun had risen at some point, but you wouldn't know it in this part of the world unless you looked closely enough; the gray-white clouds above were lay low and heavy. We were bathed in faded light, and that was unlikely to change during this time of the year.

Sometimes I really missed the sun. Maybe I'd go somewhere warm and sunny…_after_.

"All right, Charlie, if you'll just grab Bella's backpack, I'll help you in," I heard Carlisle say. He stood in the boat, a friendly smile on his movie star face and a hand outstretched toward my father. I smiled at the scene. Carlisle was helping Charlie in such a polite way that it made it seem normal, not a matter of a doctor helping his cancer patient, whose coordination was affected by pain medication and muscle deterioration.

It was interesting to watch Carlisle at work—or to be in his care, considering I'd had substantial experience with that, too. He had the bedside manner of a saint. It probably didn't hurt that he was so easy on the eyes, either. _Cullenitis_, I liked to think of it. They were all so…_pretty_. Damn them.

And very much like Edward. I frowned, still confused by their many shared physical attributes—poor circulation, muscle stiffness, eye discoloration. How was it Edward shared so many features with the Cullens, a hodgepodge family of adoptees? The only thing I could figure was that they all suffered from the same disorder and, with the exception of Edward, had come together through that. Maybe that was how Carlisle and Esme had met—at some Annual Conference for the Stiff and Frigid—why they'd adopted the children they had. Perhaps Edward's likeness to them was pure coincidence.

Was it?

I still didn't have a clue what disease ailed them. Even as my relationship with the Cullens had grown since Charlie became sick, I didn't feel comfortable enough to ask them such a personal question, and Edward was keeping quiet about the whole matter. Unsurprisingly.

I looked away as Charlie struggled over the side of the boat, my backpack hooked over a scrawny arm. I wanted to stop him, say I could take my own things, but the determined smile on his face made it obvious that he was happy to be doing something—anything—that he perceived as useful. Charlie Swan liked to be of service. That's why he'd been a cop.

Looking down into the lake, I stared at my reflection. The mirror image rippled and rolled with the gentle lapping of the water, and was blemished by short, brown reeds. Even with the distortion, I could see I looked tired, though, a little sunken in. Like I'd gotten into a cat fight. With myself.

My wavy hair, made frizzy by the humidity, only made me look worse as it stuck up around the crown of my head like a crazed bird's nest. I rubbed my hands over it in a meager attempt to tame the beast. _Well, _you_ certainly don't suffer from Cullenitis, do you_?

"Penny for your thoughts?" a voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped a little, a hand going to my heart. "God, what have I told you about sneaking up on me? You'll give me a heart attack."

"Your heart's fine." Chuckling, Edward wrapped an arm my waist. "Sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you—this time, at least." He squeezed my hip. "Are you all right?" His eyes flickered over to Charlie, who was already impaling bait on a hook, then back to me.

I shrugged. "I guess. I just know today is probably our last fishing trip."

"Ah."

"Yeah," I sighed.

I looked up at Edward's face, at the sharp, angular lines of his jaw and the Romanesque nose that reminded me of pictures of men from another time. Muted as it was, the outdoor light showcased his unruly hair in all its glory; strands of copper red, cinnamon brown and the occasional dusty blonde shifted across his forehead with the blustery wind.

"You need more time with your father," he said after a few moments of thought. He stared at me closely, studying me with that aggressive curiosity that sometimes made me blink and look away.

I looked away now. "Yeah, but there's nothing I can do about that."

"Maybe there is. We'll figure something out," he said, sounding confident. He kissed my hair. "Now, let's go while they're still biting. I think your father's getting antsy."

* * *

We spent the morning in relative silence, because what the hell else can you do when fishing? The fish get spooked if you're too loud or rock the boat too much. We did neither. Charlie, who was more serious about fishing than Simon Peter, made sure of that. I didn't mind the still silence so much, though. I was with the most important men in my life, and just being beside them was enough to make the day wonderful. I would always treasure this memory.

Unfortunately, despite our silence, the fish seemed to have gone on vacation. By noon, we'd only caught a few of what Charlie called pikeminnows. (To me, they just looked like typical bug-eyed fish.) Faring worse than we'd thought we would, we returned to shore to spread out a picnic blanket and have lunch—finger foods in the form of sandwiches, fruits and cheeses that Esme had packed in a cooler the size of Texas. She always did that—prepared too much food. I guessed it came from caring for so many kids over the years, even if it was just Carlisle, Alice and her now.

Carlisle and Edward decided to take a walk while they ate, so that left me alone with Charlie. We sat beside each other on the cool, damp ground, our backs against the rough bark of a pine tree. The green needles matched the garish plaid blanket that Charlie had finally allowed me to cover his outstretched legs with.

When he'd finished his sandwich and fruit—he was upset to find there were no potato chips—he ignored the napkins and dusted his hands off on his sweatshirt. "Don't think I'll make it to Christmas," he said casually.

I nearly choked on the ham I'd been chewing. "_Dad_?"

"Just giving you a heads up."

"Are you feeling worse?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. Tired as hell, though. Might be the pain meds, I guess, but I don't think so. This is just a hunch I have. Still, thought you should know."

Seeing my shocked expression, he tried to smooth things over. "Don't worry about it, Bells. I said it was just a hunch. Could be wrong—wouldn't be the first time." He smiled wryly. "You might be stuck with me for another year."

My skin was cold with dread and clammy from the humid air. I felt like one of the fish we'd put in the cooler. I was just as dumbstruck, too. How could he talk about his death like that? I'd resigned myself to the inevitable: my father was dying, would die soon. But did he have to talk about it so callously?

"I—" But my words died, because I had none to give.

Charlie changed the subject. "Have you talked to your mom lately?"

He didn't really expect me to just accept what he'd said and not thoroughly discuss it, did he? But then, what was there to say? Looking into his eyes, I knew he didn't want to talk about it—he _had_ really just been giving me a heads up. Charlie hated uncomfortable conversations, particularly when it came to his health, and he'd avoid them if he could. He wanted to now.

I felt myself scowl, but decided to give in to his wishes, because talking about it wouldn't change the when or how of his death.

"She emailed the other day to say she'd call tonight. I haven't…spoken to her in a few weeks." I may have deleted a few voicemails, too. To be fair, they were about mundane things going on in Florida—like how she'd taken up a Pilates class that was apparently life changing.

"Don't be so hard on her," Charlie said, detecting my frustration.

I snorted.

"I mean it, Bells."

"Well, what do you _want_ me to be with her?" I barked as I sat up straighter against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "She should be _here_, helping us—helping _you_. Especially if you think it-it's going to happen sooner than Carlisle said. We're her family, and she should be here."

Charlie shook his head. "No, she shouldn't. _You're_ her family. I'm not. She has a whole different life on the other side of the country, and she pretty well has for going on twenty years. She's remarried. I'm not her responsibility, anymore than she's mine."

I grit my teeth. "I'm sure Renée would be happy to hear that. That's all she's ever wanted—a life free from responsibility." And if she could land it on my shoulders, all the better.

His face reddened. "Now, don't go flying off the handle and say bad things about your mom. You know she means well."

Why did he always defend her? Why did he still love her? _How_?

But then I knew, didn't I?

Swans were stubbornly constant creatures.

"No, she doesn't!" I argued. My words came out louder than I'd intended. Black birds—crows, maybe—flew off from a nearby tree, cackling madly as they went. "All she _means_ is to not make any hard decisions. She never sticks to anything or anyone, because she's too immature. No one's ever made her be anything else."

Had he forgotten how easily she'd left when I was a baby? She'd robbed Charlie and me of nearly seventeen years together. How could he be so damned forgiving? Tears of anger burned my eyes.

"You could take a lesson from her, you know."

I sucked in a breath. "What?"

"You're living your life too much around"—he waved his hand—"this. Around me."

"That's not true," I said. I didn't regret the choices I'd made to help Charlie financially. It was the right thing to do.

"Isn't it?"

His eyes were hawkish, like he was investigating me, and I dug my fingers into the soft dirt at the base of the pine tree, discomfited by his stare. The brown irises that matched my own were all the darker seeming for the bluish shadows that were now ever-present beneath his eyes. This, coupled with his weight loss, which made bones stand out on his face, only heightened the bird-like qualities of his expression.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the mysteriously paid for or altogether absent bills, Bella. I was going through papers the other week and noticed a pattern." He raised a brow; it was lightly dusted with hair since he'd stopped chemo.

"That—"

"And don't try to pin it on the Cullens, either, 'cause I've already had a chat with Carlisle and Esme, so I know they're not behind it." He took a swig of his beer. "So what is it, Bells? Are you working more than you should be to help pay for things? That money should be going to your expenses and savings. I don't want your grades to take a hit on account of me, either."

I winced on the inside, because of course there weren't any classes I was attending for me to even begin to fail them! I swallowed hard. "I guess I am working a lot of hours," I said quietly. If I spoke any louder, I feared it'd be obvious that I was lying by omission. I'd gotten better at lying in the past few years, but I still wasn't great at it. My face could be an open book if I wasn't well prepared.

Charlie reached over and patted my knee. "Well, stop that. Be a bit more like Renée, Bells. Be _young_ and selfish, for once. Live your life. You never know how much of it there is. If you can learn anything from all this, let it be that, I reckon."

Grabbing one of the orange prescription bottles I'd laid out with our food, he retrieved two yellow, oblong pills and took them with his beer. The instructions advised against using them with alcohol, of course, but good luck getting Charlie to follow that at this point.

He tilted his head back, gulping down the last few swallows. "Besides," he said, coming away from the bottle with a smack of his lips, "seems like you've got someone who wants to spend time with you. And you've got Lauren and Angela. Haven't heard you speak about them since your birthday."

I frowned and reluctantly nodded.

The truth was I'd hardly seen them between work, seeing Charlie and spending a few nights the past week at Edward's. We kept different schedules, what with their being in school and having part-time jobs of their own. Those things led to other friends and social circles; the world wasn't contained in the old, faded hallways of Forks High, after all. Circumstance was changing my friendship with them.

I _did_ miss them, though, and I silently vowed to spend some time with them after work soon, if at all possible. If time and place could line up for us.

Sometimes it felt like there was never enough time for anything, much less _anyone_. One lifetime just wasn't enough—I glanced at my father—especially when it was cut short.

We were sitting ducks, waiting for the inevitable. Swans hate being ducks.

Carlisle and Edward returned and meandered to our pine tree, looking disheveled and windblown, like they'd been running. Their grins were wide, filled with life and fresh air.

I stifled a laugh as I looked at Edward's hair more closely. It was blown back from his forehead, almost flat against his head. As he knelt before me, I picked a leaf from the soft locks and rustled my fingers through it. It stuck up wildly in whorls and cowlicks.

"Have fun?" I asked. It was a completely unnecessary question.

He answered with boyish grin, and the tear in my heart was mended, even if only for the moment. "I did," he said. He jutted two closed fists out to me and nodded at them. "Pick one."

I rolled my eyes, while silently I loved when he was playful. "Really?"

"I wouldn't pick the right one, were I you," Carlisle said, pulling a twig from his shirt.

"Er, okay." I touched Edward's left hand. "This one."

Before Carlisle could get out "I meant _your_ right," Edward had opened his hand, and a tiny, brown-speckled frog popped out onto my forearm—all wet and sticky—before rapidly hopping to the ground and beyond, fleeing to taller grasses. He was obviously trying to get as far away from Edward as possible, which was pretty understandable, considering.

I jumped up and rubbed at my arm. It was like a phantom frog was stuck on my skin. "_Argh_, that was disgusting! He was so cold!" I cried above the raucous guffaws of the three men sitting on the ground.

My hands went to my hips as I gave them my best glare. "It's just fucking hilarious, isn't it?" I growled.

Carlisle hissed air through his nose as more laughter rippled through him. Where was his damn saintly bedside manner now?

"You should've seen your face!" Charlie said between laughter and coughs.

My face was hot with embarrassment and a good deal of anger as I turned and walked away, fists at my sides. They called after me, but I didn't go back. I had to get away, even if just for a moment. My emotions were all over the place enough as it was; having a childish prank pulled on me was the last thing I'd needed.

It wasn't long before leaves and grass crunched beneath another set of shoes.

"Bella?"

"Leave me alone, Edward," I said, crossing my arms over my chest as I walked along the shore.

"I'm sorry," he said, but a breathy chuckle slipped past his lips.

I looked over my shoulder and scowled. "Clearly."

"I was just having some fun."

"Yeah, well, I was having a really difficult conversation with my father—several, actually. I wasn't in the mood for that."

He came up beside me. "Hey, I _am_ sorry," he said softly. "I thought you could use a laugh, given the nature of today. Perhaps it was poorly planned… Carlisle tried to warn me."

"You should have listened to him," I said, but then I felt tension go out of my shoulders as I sighed. "Actually, no, I'm sorry. I'm just…"

"Stressed?"

"Yeah."

"Give me your hand," he said.

"What? No way. You can't expect me to fall for that again."

He rolled his eyes. "Some credit, please. I promise it's something good."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "If it's another frog…so help me." I shuddered, remembering clammy, amphibian skin.

He flashed a smirk. "Promise it's not. The first one was hard enough for me to catch, anyway. They don't exactly like me."

"I wonder why," I said dryly.

"Oh, I'm sure they dislike me for multiple reasons. Just give me your hand."

"Fine," I grumbled and held out my palm to him.

His hand closed over mine; what he left behind felt cool and round—and thankfully unanimated. He closed my fingers over the object; it was rough and grainy to the touch.

I opened my hand before me and found a flat, sand-colored rock that had dark brown veins. It was caked with mud along its edges and grooves and didn't even cover the whole of my palm. It was a fairly ordinary rock, but the randomness of nature had made it into something more. In its center was the shallow imprint of a dragonfly. It was a fossil.

"Edward!" I whispered in awe. _I so should have picked this hand first!_

"Rather lovely, isn't it?" he said, smiling.

"Yes." I ran my finger over the indentations, tracing the fine outline of what must have once been a shimmering wing and a knobby exoskeleton. "Aren't fossils really rare?" I asked, staring at it as we continued to walk aimlessly. Edward had grabbed hold of my elbow to guide me, and—I suspected—to catch me if I went tripping all over the place, given that I wasn't watching where I was going.

He shrugged. "They're more common near areas with mud," he said. "A lake's rather muddy territory."

"Wow. And of course you knew how to find this sort of thing."

"No." He looked sheepish. "Carlisle showed me."

"Oh."

"Mm. Dr. Cullen can be a real wealth of information," Edward said in a dry tone that seemed to suggest he and Carlisle had had at least one interesting conversation to date.

Oh to be a fly on that wall.

"It's beautiful," I said finally, smiling down at the fossil. _A dragonfly is much better than a damn frog_, I thought. "Thank you."

Pulling us to a stop, Edward leaned in and kissed my temple. "I thought it appropriate."

"How so?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I know you're…afraid. That you'll forget him. It's a natural fear to have, but you won't forget."

Was I that obvious?

I swallowed hard and looked away, but Edward grabbed my chin and turned my head back, forcing me to look at him straight on. His golden eyes were soft, but there was a strength behind them that reminded me of a large cat's gaze—a lion's, maybe. I breathed in his sweet scent and felt myself relax, if only a little.

"Death leaves its mark, but so does life, Bella. You'll never forget him or his life, regardless of how many moments you have left with him."

"So you remember your parents well?"

He let go of me and breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring. "No. No, I don't, but then my circumstances were very different to yours. I don't have many memories of my parents, but at the same time, they're still there—somewhere—I think. They aren't forgotten. I've learned that, flawed as I am, as much as I have gone against their teachings—given that I can't remember them well enough to follow them—I'm still evidence that they once existed. And _you_ won't forget like I did."

Maybe it was because he told me so little about himself, but sometimes I forgot how similar Edward and I were, barring the outwardly obvious fact that he was classically beautiful, and I was a Plain Jane. He'd maybe not gone through what I was going through—not exactly—but he'd gone through something comparable. It was a strange, bittersweet comfort.

"You were really young when they died, weren't you?" I knew he'd been a child, but I didn't know _how_ young he'd been.

He glanced down at his shoes. "I was much younger, yes."

Reaching up, I brushed my fingers through his silky hair. "I love you," I said, squeezing the fossil in my other hand.

A small smile tilted his lips. "And I you."

"They would be proud of you, you know—of your music, of who you are."

He snorted through his nose and took a step back. "No. I'm quite sure they wouldn't be."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he swiftly turned away and headed back to where Charlie and Carlisle sat beneath the pine tree. His shoulders were stiff as I trailed behind him, drawn to him once more.

We didn't go back out on the lake in the afternoon. Instead, we sat and talked or took small walks when Charlie felt he could handle the movement. Charlie taught Edward the art of fly fishing and about which bait you should choose for what occasion and species of fish—conversations I'd suffered through a hundred times, but somehow didn't mind hearing this time. Edward smiled and asked questions where Charlie obviously wanted him to.

By sunset, I was nearly in tears at the prospect of leaving our woodsy bubble, but Carlisle insisted we return before nightfall, when autumn coolness and humidity would descend like a dark cloak and cause Charlie discomfort. I didn't want to go, though, because leaving would be the end—a goodbye. Charlie wouldn't make a trip like this again; he'd be too tired and ill to sit in the cold dampness for hours on end, especially as winter came on.

Charlie mistook my silent depression for tiredness.

"You kids should head on back to Port Angeles when we get in," he said. Part of me knew he also didn't want me to be around to hover over him like a fly at a summer picnic. "Been a long day."

"But a good one, right?" I asked, reaching for his hand as we watched Carlisle and Edward hitch the boat back onto the Jeep. "Even if we didn't catch much?"

Charlie coughed against his shoulder. Straightening up, he looked over the calm water. The purplish afternoon light and long, swaying reeds reflected in his eyes. He was committing the scene to memory. "Today was one of the best, Bells," he said and squeezed my fingers.

_Goodbye_, I thought to the coolly indifferent lake as I sat beside Edward in the back of the Cullens' Jeep.

* * *

Though I maybe could have seen Angela and Lauren had we gone back to my place after seeing Charlie safely home, Edward and I decided on his place for the night. After showering and having dinner, we sat on the khaki sofa in his living room, an eclectic range of music playing through the stereo speakers.

I never knew what would come from Edward's playlist next—jazz or jigs, rock or reggae, baroque or big band. While some genres he clearly favored more than others, I knew he was a lover of all styles of music—whatever he thought to be "good," in terms of technicality, expression or lyricism. Despite the diverse array, there was a sort of consistency in it all—some link between all the sounds and songs. The link was Edward himself, I thought, and I found myself smiling, even when the music wasn't something I'd usually listen to.

Jeff Buckley's voice floated through the room now, all satin earnest.

_Well, it's my time coming… I'm not afraid to die…_

Did my father feel that way?

Sometimes I was angry and wanted him to fight harder, even if I knew it was a pointless fight in the grand scheme of things. A part of me raged. How _dare_ he give up? Dylan Thomas' poetry floated up from memory…

_Do not go gentle into that good night._  
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

And Buckley answered in kind.

_My time has come… It reminds me of the pain I might leave…leave behind._

It was funny how death was something we all experienced indirectly and directly—and yet no one really had one, true way of dealing with it. I sighed.

My feet were bare in Edward's lap as he massaged my instep with cool, skilled fingers. A look of concentration pulled his thick brows together, as if this was the most important task he'd had, er, fall onto his lap.

He took the little toe of my right foot between two of his fingers and jiggled it back and forth, as if testing it. "What happened here?"

"What?"

"It's slightly crooked. Still lovely, mind, but crooked."

"Oh." I laughed. "I broke it." And didn't know it was _that_ noticeable. _Thanks_.

_This should be good_, I thought. Edward had taken to cataloguing every little scar on my body—and asking about them, as if by knowing their history he might prevent all further injury or at least worry the existing marks right off of me. It was endearing. And futile. I maybe wasn't as accident prone as I'd been when I first stepped foot in Washington, but it was only a matter of time. Bruises and broken bones were part of the Bella Swan package.

He sighed heavily, like a mother exhausted from dealing with a worrisome child. "You broke it more than once, I'm thinking."

"Three times." I almost sounded proud. You could be that way, when the bones had healed—even if crookedly. My own personal battle scar…after losing to doorframes and the corners of coffee tables.

"Christ, Bella," he breathed. He stretched an arm along the back of the sofa and brought his fingers to the side of my face, where he touched the scar there. I didn't move or look away anymore. While invasive, I knew he was just studying me. He did that. "Sometimes I want to clothe you in bubble wrap and stuff you in a fallout shelter," he said.

I snorted, not doubting him. "I'm sure I'd still find a way to get hurt." I turned my head and kissed his palm.

"Possibly." His lips pressed into a thin line and went back to massaging my feet, his fingers now particularly careful around my little toes.

I watched him at work, reveling in his touch. "I wish she'd just call already," I sighed, letting my head fall back against the armrest.

"Is that why you're so tense?" His thumb swept across my heel.

"Am I?"

Having brought one of the bottles of vodka that had been leftover from my birthday to Edward's in the past week, I'd started in on a drink as soon as we'd gotten in. I didn't feel particularly tense—at least physically. Introspective and _floaty_, perhaps, but not tense.

"Your muscles are stiff," Edward murmured.

_Maybe I'm catching your disease_, I thought, rolling my eyes.

I nudged his stomach with my foot. "Well, if I'm so tense, you have to be nice to me."

"And what is it I'm doing now—being cruel? Besides, I'm _always_ nice to you." He waggled his brows suggestively, and I laughed loudly.

"Okay, then. Be nice and play me something?" I said with a grin, nodding to the concert grand in the corner of the room. Lucky was curled up beside the polished instrument on a fluffy, blue dog bed, his back legs kicking as he lost himself to canine dreams.

Smiling, Edward moved my feet onto the sofa and rose in his usual fluid grace. He kissed my forehead, turned off the stereo and strode to the piano on long, confident legs. He'd played for me a few times over the past week, and he always slid effortlessly into the role of self-assured musician, as if the piano was just another extension of himself—a limb of his body, rather than an acquired skill. Some people are born to do things, and Edward was born to communicate through music. I'd known that much since the first time I'd heard him in Seattle.

Would _I_ ever be that good at anything? What would I be, who would I be, when my father was gone? Would I go back to school? Would I be an English teacher, like I'd once thought?

Edward always began with the same piece, "Sweet Hour of Prayer." It was a hymn I was familiar with from the few times I'd gone with my Gran to church; she'd been a moderately dedicated Presbyterian. Edward played the hymn with a weary smile, his body occasionally swaying with the sound. Though he'd not written this piece, I knew without asking that he thought of someone when he played it.

Who? Why?

I lay back on the sofa as one piece bled into another, blending like watercolors. While he tended to play classical works—I recognized Bach and Debussy—there were contemporary songs among his repertoire, too, masterfully transposed to suit solo piano.

With my eyes closed, I interrupted him at the start of a new piece. "Edward, do you take requests?"

He continued to play with his left hand, lightly tinkering with arpeggios as he gazed at me. "Of what nature? Musical or…" His eyes squinted in amused mischief.

"The musical kind. In this case." I laughed, feeling shy. For some reason, I always felt more timid when we were both fully dressed. There was something to be said for seeing Edward in less clothing. (Actually, a lot of things to be said.) It had a way of making me bolder than I usually was.

We were both clothed now, though, and I was far from being in the mood.

"What is it you'd like to hear?" he asked, smiling.

"Well, the thing is…" I hesitated, chewing at my lower lip.

Edward laughed. "Just spit it out, Bella. For my sanity."

"Would you compose something? By request?"

His fingers stopped moving along the keys, and the room fell silent, save for the natural noise of whistling wind as it passed the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house.

"People don't usually request the sort of compositions I create," Edward said, sounding grim. "But what do you have in mind?"

"Something for Charlie. You make such beautiful music, and I want something like that to remember him by. I know you say I won't forget anything, but…"

"I can certainly try," he said. "I _will_ try." It was a vow.

I smiled, feeling some sort of immense relief steal over me. "Thank you. If you can't, I'll understand. I just—"

"I _can_," he interrupted. He wasn't being arrogant about it, merely stating fact. "My only reservation is that I may not do your father justice." He looked at the bookcase that held the black and mysterious, name-filled binders.

"Sometimes I wonder…" he trailed off, almost as if he'd forgotten I was in the room, though I knew that wasn't the case. "It's so difficult to capture the essence of a human being. Humans are made up of defining moments, moments that change them—us—many of which no one else is present for or takes notice of; trying to figure out what makes a man"—he glanced at me—"or woman tick is like trying to pick apart a riddle." He sighed. "One I'm never sure I adequately solve, at that."

"I'm not asking for it to be perfect," I said, though I highly doubted any music he created would be anything less than that.

"No, I suppose you aren't." He smiled, but his body was rigidly erect, and no joy lit his golden eyes.

I chewed on my lip for a minute, thinking. He stared at the piano keys, off in a world of thought. I knew better than to ask him to share those thoughts. He wouldn't.

"Would you play some of _your_ music for me?"

He hesitated. I wasn't sure why, but he'd so far been unwilling to play his compositions for me. Not including the transposed contemporary music and the hauntingly beautiful lullaby he hummed to me each night, the last time I'd heard his work had in fact been in Seattle. I longed to hear his music again, no matter how heartbreaking some of the pieces might be.

Something in my face seemed to convince him. He nodded, and a look of concentration descended upon his brow as his lips bowed downward in a slight frown.

Just like the first time, I closed my eyes and let myself be swept away into the ghost-filled world Edward created. He played his music differently than when he played the classics or even the converted contemporary songs. Here, in the pieces he'd made, I saw him for who he was—a man who carried guilt, whether justified or not. These were songs of atonement, musical letters of apology that seemed incongruous with the more hopeful lilt of the lullaby I knew he'd also composed.

I wept as silently as I could as each piece conjured up familiar and unfamiliar faces all at once. He didn't stop playing; crying, I guessed, was probably a very common reaction to his music. And it wasn't painful, honestly. It was cathartic, a pure ache that was also release.

On the edge of all of this, words came to me. Some were familiar—lines from poems or songs long since written. Others were surprisingly new—all my own, possibly poetic phrases that, with enough nurturing, might take form. But they welled up too quickly, sped by before I could grasp them with my tired brain.

Edward moved into a minor key, and I felt the room grow colder and darker, as if by music alone he'd placed us in a vacuum and sucked out all available air.

In my mind's eye, I saw Charlie, his arms neatly beside him as he lay in the plush confines of a wooden box. He wore a suit, which was grossly out of character for a man I'd hardly ever seen dress up. Now his face was pale and lifeless, a fact which was poorly masked with makeup. Was it supposed to make him look more alive?

But all was still—deathly so.

I saw faceless men lower a casket into a wet bed of earth, into a dark place I wouldn't—couldn't—follow. Over the soft sprinkle of rain, Pastor Weber's rich baritone spoke words of peace; about an afterlife with loved ones and a benevolent god, where Charlie would never feel pain, would want for nothing. Shovels rhythmically tossed soil into the gaping hole where the casket lay; the chunks of dirt popped as they landed on the mahogany face of the box.

Minutes or maybe hours passed. Mourners left the cemetery, muttering well-meaning, but hollow condolences as they drifted past.

"So sorry for your loss."

"Your father was a good man."

"We sure will miss him."

"He's at peace now."

"Everything will be all right."

But it wasn't all right as I stood there, allowing darkness to descend and envelop me as the earth had swallowed my father. A poem I'd copied to my journal floated on the wind.

_The hourglass speeds its final sands,_  
_In splendor sinks the golden sun,_  
_So men must yield to death's demands_  
_When human life its course has run._

Night fell. The sun rose in the east. The skies cried rain in mist and flood. Still I stood. Spring and summer, fall and winter. Grass grew over the disturbed earth where Charlie lay, leaving only a small, stone marker. It was simple and terribly inadequate.

_Charles William Swan_  
_Beloved Father and Friend_  
_1963 – 2008_

_Loved Always and Forever_

Though I stood in one place, I was lost. Though people were around me, cradled in silent graves, I was alone. A solitary fixture in nature, like a scraggly tree. The world moved around me, but I stood by Charlie's grave, confused, detached and aimless.

Something cold and hard pressed into my hand; my fingers closed reflexively, gripping with the same instinctive awareness of a Venus Flytrap. I looked down at my palm, only to find the dragonfly fossil. I stared at it, taking comfort in it, and watched as the dragonfly imprint shook and shimmered, vibrated to life. And then a ghostly form sprang up from the rock—a green and blue dragonfly. It flew up into the atmosphere, into a star-freckled sky, free from its earthly constraint.

"Bella?"

I twitched and woke with a start.

"Edward?" My throat was dry, and I swallowed against soreness.

"I'm here." A cool-fingered hand rested against my chest, above my fluttering heart. It felt like he was holding it in, like removing his hand might mean it would jump out of me. His other hand gripped mine, echoing the weight of the fossil in my dream. Cold, maybe, but steady, stable. I held on tight.

"I fell asleep?" But it hadn't really felt like sleep. It'd been that twilight stage of rest, half awake and half asleep, trapped in a strange limbo where dreams feel more realistic with the aid of semi-cognizant thought.

"Yes, you were asleep." He kissed my forehead. "Your heart's racing," he whispered worriedly. "What can I do?"

I wanted to pull away from him, handle my grief on my own. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough of his own feelings always troubling him. But I was selfish and weak and couldn't do it.

"I feel so…lost," I admitted.

I didn't quite know how to explain it beyond that, and Edward, not fully understanding, didn't reply. He continued to hold my hand.

_Have I always been this way?_ I wondered.

No, I knew I hadn't been. I'd never been one of those people to grip life by the horns and go for a ride, but there'd been purpose and stability in the past—the habitual nature of caring for my mother, the reliability of heat in Phoenix and rain in Forks, a simple love with a smiling boy who made me gifts from leather and wood. And then, even when I'd lost some of those things, I'd had Charlie and school. It wasn't perfect, but it'd been something to hold onto, dammit.

And now…

What now?

"It hurts so much to think about losing him," I said, feeling myself come unglued at the very notion of it. Like I was being flung from the earth, gravity be damned. "And…what do I become after all this?" After my father was gone. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Edward stared at me with thoughtful eyes before giving me a smile. It was a soft, almost sad tilt of his mouth, one of those expressions he possessed that seemed to imply he'd seen a lot—probably too much—in his twenty years. I reached up and touched his face.

I stared back, waiting and wanting advice, because while I knew Edward Masen might be a little unpredictable and confusing, he was also canny and wise. But it wasn't advice he gave me, in the end. It was a promise.

"You're mine," he said, "and I won't ever let you get lost."

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ The lyrics in this chapter were from Jeff Buckley's "Grace," which is a song about accepting death. Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" was also mentioned; it was written for his dying father, who he felt should fight an inevitable end. Finally, Alfred Castner King's "Dying Hymn" is also quoted. It suggests that, no matter one's feelings on death—rage or acceptance—we must all "yield to death's demands." We have little to no control over it._

_In other news, thank you to everyone who voted for SotPM in The Sparkleteer's Rare Gem Awards. I didn't come away with anything (I came close for WTF moment, though!), but I feel all warm and fuzzy from the support! :) It really does mean a lot._


	16. Outside the Lines of Reason

**_Author's Notes (December 31, 2010):_**_ Thanks to **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry** for polishing rough edges; I made _major_ changes to this chapter, because of their feedback. It's a million times better for it. I should also thank **afoolishmortal**, **jdbeaner** and **raizie** for pimping me out on Twitter and elsewhere. I appreciate it, ladies!_

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm16-pic_

**_Chapter Music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm16-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 16: OUTSIDE THE LINES OF REASON**

* * *

_"There is no going back. Bend like the grass that you do not break."_

_From "Nectar in a Sieve" by Kamala Markandaya_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
One time, when I was ten years old and still living in Phoenix with Renée, I woke in the middle of sleepwalking. I'd somehow ended up in the kitchen that was at the time decorated in a "country style"—chickens, roosters, red barns and all—which hardly fit in with the Arizonian scrub right outside the window. I didn't remember sleepwalking at all, or anything I might have said or done along the way. I went to sleep in my bed, beneath a quilt of sun, moon and stars, and woke in the kitchen, standing up, my hand on the refrigerator door, my feet cold and bare on old, faded blue linoleum. I remember the way my knuckles brushed against a smiling sunshine magnet that had come from a cereal box.

What had I been planning to do? Make breakfast? Get a drink? _Climb in_? It was a small thing, but I never could remember, and somehow, at twenty-one, it still bothered me that I'd never know, that the answer was buried in that foggy place of dreams you can never quite reach but know is there.

Three weeks had passed since the fishing trip on Ozette Lake, and in that time I'd become a sleepwalker again.

I wasn't so unaware of my surroundings that I didn't know how I made it from Point A to Point B, but one day blurred into the next in a bizarre, dreamlike fashion; I only had control over the little things. One action led to another, but I watched myself perform daily tasks from a distance, like I was seeing someone else portray _me_ in an awkward high school play, on a stage with low-budget settings, stilted acting and orange cake makeup. The third and final act of the play had yet to be written, and it showed in the way the brown-haired girl floundered about, tripped to and fro, and stuttered her lines.

Excluding the obvious, what would happen in the third act? What would happen _after_ the play? If I watched from this foggy distance long enough would I find out?

Each week Charlie worsened. Sometimes I prayed that he'd last until Christmas, feeling that the Halloween that had passed without fanfare and the upcoming Thanksgiving weren't enough. Other times I begged Death to work more swiftly, to be merciful, but Death lingered. He hovered in doorways like a shadowy, uninvited guest. I'd ignored him for a long time, thrown myself into work and hardened my heart, but now he blocked pathways, and there were no more defenses I could use against him.

"Bella, I hope you know we're here for you," Esme had said to me on the phone one day, sensing the dark change in my demeanor.

This sentiment was echoed by Angela and Lauren and Alice; even Judy, in her own brusque way, had told me she was "around" if I needed her. Carlisle had given me the names of grief counselors, whose numbers I didn't call. Edward was there, too, holding me up, loving me in spite of myself. His love was gentle and soothing at night, but love couldn't solve everything, especially when we were apart during the day. That was when I really tore at my seams.

Why wasn't I prepared for Charlie's death? I'd been watching it happen since July, but at times it hadn't felt real; now I knew it was, but there was nothing I could do about it. I felt I _should_ be prepared. This wasn't the first death I'd experienced. My Gran had died when I was eleven, after a stroke, and I'd lost pets—a fat and irritable hamster I'd called Alf and likely enough fish to raise PETA's brows.

But losing Charlie wasn't like losing a pet or even like losing Gran. I was losing my father, the man who'd literally given me half of everything I was. If I wasn't lost when Edward wasn't around, I was something very close to it.

As the days grew darker and colder into November, I wondered how I'd make it through the winter in one piece.

* * *

"Sooo, I have some news," Lauren said.

Having eaten the college student's dinner of ramen noodles, we were sitting at the rickety kitchen table, trying to catch up with each other during one of the few times when we were all at the house.

Angela perked up from where she sat beside me, a big grin on her face. "I have news, too." She bounced in her seat a little, which was abnormally hyper for Angela, who was known for her placid personality. "You go first, though," she said to Lauren, polite as always.

Smoothing her hands across the width of the table, Lauren grinned widely and looked at both of us in turn, as if she was before a podium, addressing a small but attentive crowd. Lauren liked theatrics. "Okay. You know the paper I wrote about pubic hair in girl-on-girl pornography?" She looked to the side in thought. "Really, it's more the lack thereof…"

My mouth dropped open.

"Oh, you missed that one, probably," she said as an afterthought, disregarding my surprise. "You've been really…busy, I know. I wrote it a couple of months back."

"It was…interesting," Angela supplied. "I proofread it for her. Very enlightening. Lots of feminist theory. And the history of hair removal advertisements."

Lauren nodded and didn't try to make it educational now. "I'm not into shaving it all off myself, but, God, bushes were _huge_ in the seventies. I see why they called it jungle fever." She shuddered.

Angela frowned. "You shouldn't joke about malaria."

"_Malaria_?"

"Yeah, jungle yellow fever—malaria—from mosquitoes that've been bitten monkeys. A mission group that visited Dad's church talked about it."

Lauren shrugged, never quite interested in the finer workings of the Weber's brand of Lutheranism.

Shaking my head to rid myself of the persistent images of hairy, malaria-stricken women with awkward O-faces, I asked, "So, this is news _how_?"

"Oh," Lauren said, "it's gotten me a scholarship to a women's college in New York!"

That was unexpected.

"Wow, that's great!" I exclaimed, and Angela eagerly nodded beside me, malarial faux-pas forgotten.

"I'm dropping out of Peninsula before exams," Lauren told us. "My degree's going to change, anyway, so there's no point in doing that crap if I'm not going to get anything for it. I'm going to move out early, so I can do some sightseeing in the Big Apple before I have to start back." She beamed with her announcement.

A nervous pit settled in my stomach with her growing excitement. "We'll have to find another roommate before you go," I said. There was no way Angela and I could manage rent without her.

Lauren waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Some chick named Leah Clear-Clear—uh, you know how bad I am with names. I've got her number."

"Leah _Clearwater_?" I suggested in a squeak as blood drained from my face.

"Hey, that's it! Do you guys know her?" Lauren looked between Angela and me.

"I know her," I said numbly, thinking of a bitter and beautiful, brown-skinned girl who'd had her own La Push betrayal when her boyfriend Sam left her for her less pretty cousin, Emily. When Jacob and I had been dating, it was the juicy, soap-opera-worthy gossip on the rez. What was it with Quileute guys and breaking hearts?

"_Leah's_ okay," I added, "but I don't think I want to be around the company she keeps."

Lauren arched a blonde brow. "Why?"

"She's Quileute. I'm not exactly on the best of terms with the people of La Push." How could I be, when they seemed to hate the Cullens?

And having Leah as a housemate would probably lead to having her younger brother Seth around, which might lead to other Quileute boys, like Jacob. In no universe could I imagine that _not_ being awkward, even if I had Edward now. Sometimes the past needs to stay behind you.

"Wait, she's from La Push?" Angela asked, realization dawning.

I nodded grimly.

"Well, damn," Lauren muttered, catching on. "Small world, huh? I just grabbed her info from Craigslist. She was looking for a place near the college. So you won't be able to get along with her?"

I could have given a complicated answer to that, but instead I just sighed and said I didn't know. Knowing some of the shit Leah had suffered over the years, it didn't seem right to give her the shaft again, right when she was trying to break free from the reservation. If Lauren had told her she could move here, I probably shouldn't stand in her way.

"You _really_ should have cleared her with us first," I said to Lauren, frowning. "This wouldn't have happened if you had. Now she probably thinks this place is all settled for her to move into when you leave."

Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but Angela interrupted with a groan.

"You're going to hate me, too, Bella," she said.

"Hey, she doesn't _hate_ me," Lauren hissed, gently smacking Angela arm.

I tried my best to smile at Angela, but I think I only managed a less pronounced scowl. "Don't be silly."

Her shoulders slumped, and she nervously pulled at her braided hair. "I'm moving out, too." I must have looked upset, because she quickly raised her hands in defense. "Don't worry. I'm getting a roommate lined up. There's a girl I go to church with who will probably move to Port Angeles soon. Her boyfriend's here." She glanced at Lauren. "And my reason for moving isn't _as_ pressing as Lauren's, but I can't stick around for long—only to January, maybe."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Ben and I are getting married," she said, and a small, sweet smile lit her mouth and eyes.

"What? Congratulations!" I said, trying my best to sound happy as I pulled her into a quick hug. I _was_ happy for her, but I also realized the precarious situation I was now in. The thought of dealing with anymore stressful changes over the next few months made me feel nauseated.

Lauren slapped the table with a hand. "You're getting married? No shit?"

"Yes," Angela laughed. "Or should that be 'no?'"

"Couldn't wait to have sex any longer?"

Angela grimaced. "Well…"

"Don't tell us you're pregnant." Lauren snorted a laugh.

Angela hesitated, and I looked at her in disbelief. "No… No way. You _aren't._ _Are _you?"

She nodded shyly and placed a hand over her still-flat abdomen. "But don't tell anyone yet, you guys. It's really early on."

I nodded mutely as I stared at her stomach. I didn't want or particularly like children, but I knew Angela did, and she was one of those girls that probably wanted to use her brilliance more toward motherhood than becoming a CEO. Reaching over, I squeezed her other hand. She smiled at me, her eyes shining with fear and excitement. Happiness was there, too—lots of happiness.

"I'll be damned," Lauren said. "I didn't know you had it in you, Ang." She rolled her eyes at herself. "Well, clearly you _did_. But what the hell? Why didn't you have Ben wear a raincoat? Our sex ed sucked in a bad way, but even it had bananas and condoms. You're about to be in your senior year. It seems like bad timing." She looked skeptical.

"We were only together once, and it wasn't _planned_," Angela said, as if this was a reasonable defense. "And it isn't bad timing. It's just…different." Clearly embarrassed, she stared at the wood grain of the table, seeking distraction.

Lauren laughed again. "Keep saying that for the next eighteen years."

"_Lauren_," I hissed, giving her a look to say she might be going a bit far.

She shrugged, unapologetic as always. "Congrats, Ang. I _am_ happy for you, even if I don't understand you. Besides, we all knew you and Ben were going to tie the knot eventually." She smiled and leaned back, tilting her chair onto its hind legs. "You tell Papa Weber yet?" Suddenly leaning forward as she realized something, the chair slammed down on the floor loudly. "Oh my God, you're making him a granddad. I bet he lost his shit!"

Angela looked a little green at this, but I didn't think it was from morning sickness. "We haven't told him. And we don't plan to, so long as we can get married in a month or two."

A month or two. That was how much time I had to figure everything out. I forced a smile on my face and tried to be happy for my friends, who were bubbly in their excitement, talking about the vastness of New York and wedding invitations. Meanwhile, it felt like my troubles had multiplied.

* * *

The next day, a Tuesday, Edward and I made plans to go back to Forks. I'd switched shifts at Books & News with another girl so I could have the day off to see Charlie. He hadn't looked well on our latest Sunday visit, and his breathing was worsening—now a thick, gasping rattle from his chest. Alice and Esme made an effort to visit him at least once a day now, but I had a bad feeling that I knew wouldn't go away until I saw him again. It didn't matter if I was being cleverly intuitive or downright paranoid. I _had_ to go.

While Edward showered, I went to his closet in search of my sneakers. Edward was a neat freak, almost to the point of obsession. No matter where I kicked my shoes off in his house, they were always carefully shelved in his closet the next morning, beside a pair of disgustingly muddy running shoes—the one thing he seemed unbothered about leaving dirty. I didn't even know when he put my shoes away, but they were always there, just to the right at the start of the walk-in closet, beneath a crisp, dark grey suit I frequently imagined him wearing. And stripping out of. I imagined that more often than was healthy, probably.

Going to this shelf each morning I stayed with him had become a ritual, but today, something was out of place. On a subconscious level, I maybe felt it as soon as I entered the closet. After all, it wouldn't be hard to see something out of place in this closet. It was color-coded—well, as color-coded as Edward's nearly-monochromatic collection of white and grey, blue, black and brown could be.

I retrieved my shoes, then stood up and looked down the length of the closet, my head tilted to one side as I studied the contents of hangers and shelves. Button-down shirts, sweaters, jeans, dress pants…

Then I saw it.

Gasping, I dropped one of the shoes I held. With a thick thud, it bounced on a rubber heel, narrowly missing my little toe.

_My jacket_—Charlie's old barn jacket—was in Edward's closet.

My initial reaction was one of happiness. I'd lost the jacket in September and had finally decided to let it go, thinking it gone forever, carelessly left in some public place. Edward had consoled me over its loss only two days earlier.

Happiness evolved into curiosity, then. _Why_ was it in _Edward's_ closet? Why hadn't he told me that he had it, when he'd known I was looking for it, known that it pained me to have lost it? I'd described it to him; it was kind of unmistakable, what with the torn inner lining. I stared, frozen where I stood, my toes digging into plush, white carpet.

Strangely, it looked like Edward had intended to hide it, what with its being hung at the back of the closet. A black coat was usually hanging in front of the space it occupied, I remembered. He'd perhaps taken that out for today. Now the orange-brown material of my jacket stood out glaringly among his more conservative colors. Had it been here all along, even before we talked about it on Sunday? If so, _why_?

One thing was for sure. Edward had _not_ found it in the two days since he'd hugged me and reminded me that it was "just a jacket." We'd been together all day Sunday, and while I'd had work yesterday, I knew he'd been out himself, purchasing a new guitar and recording equipment. He'd definitely not been looking for this. So why the hell did he have it?

Glancing over my shoulder, I listened for the shower. Good, it was still going. I could hear the water spraying down on the tiles. Edward liked long, boiling hot showers that would leave me pink and raw. He'd be a while yet.

My heart drummed nervously as I crept to the back of the closet, one hand outstretched toward the jacket. _Why does he have it_? I asked myself again, grabbing hold of the piece of clothing. It was cool to the touch, the material soft and worn.

I had that sudden, confused feeling like I'd woken from sleepwalking; that the circumstances I found myself in weren't usual at all. What was I doing here? What was Edward doing here? What was I not seeing, because I'd been asleep?

Something was weird about this—something _not normal_.

_Well, _he's_ not normal, is he? _I scrunched my nose up in distaste at the thought, but it was quickly followed by another._ You think you know why, too._

I shook my head, wanting to disregard the idea, but knowing I couldn't. Signs were there—things I usually shielded myself from, thoughts I didn't want to entertain. _Something_ wasn't right about Edward. Something wasn't right about finding this jacket here. Admitting that made all the questions I'd ignored tumble forward and flood me mercilessly.

Was he in Port Angeles just by chance, like he'd always said? How much of our relationship was coincidence? How much was conscious choice?

_"Follow me," I said to Edward. "Or is that what you've already been doing?"_

A talented musician, young and beautiful: he could have any girl. What was so fascinating about me? Nothing, so far as I could see, though I had asked him on occasion.

_"For one, you taste amazing," he breathed against my neck, sending a delightful tingle down my spine. "Two, you always surprise me." He moved to lay his head on my breast, over my heart. It was a heavy, soothing weight. "Most of all, I simply love you. There's no logic involved."_

Those were pretty, poetic words that made me weak in the knees, just at the memory, but were they true? It always felt like there were things he wasn't saying.

My heart raced. How well did I know Edward, compared to how well he knew me? He'd just popped up out of nowhere, and I'd let him. Even now, the idea of him _not_ being in my life was much more terrifying than having him with me, covertly hidden sentimental items or not. From the very beginning, I'd felt drawn to what wasn't normal about him, to the part that seemed forbidden and maybe even dangerous. God, what did that say about me?

_His fingers rested on the buttons of my shirt. "You must tell me if I hurt you."_

He had secrets. He had hundreds of names in folders, people he said he'd "wronged." How had he wronged them? Had he actually done anything at all? What _could_ he have done?

_"How do you know I'm not a monster?" he asked._

No. I firmly pushed those thoughts aside.

Edward wasn't a bad person. _I_ was horrible for even thinking he could be, simply because I found my jacket in his closet. I _knew_ he was good. Nothing he'd done had suggested he was anything but good at heart. I'd placed my trust—and love—in him, and in the month we'd been together, he'd always been there for me.

But…

He _did_ have secrets…and my jacket. And _that_ felt very wrong somehow, enough so that the fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were raised in alarm.

For a long time, I stood there, mulling over all I knew about Edward Masen. The floodgates had burst open. I figured I might as well deal with all the debris that had come in with the water.

There were plenty of conclusions I could come to about Edward's strange behavior that didn't include anything too out of the ordinary. He could be a mentally troubled genius, as I'd often thought; that could lead to all sorts of odd behavior, maybe even covert jacket stealing. (Maybe this was just a case of kleptomania!) I'd seen the DSM-IV, the guide psychiatrists use to help them diagnose mental disorders. Nearing a thousand pages, it isn't a light read, to say the least. He could suffer from any number of those illnesses, just like anyone else.

I did have wilder theories, of course. With so little to go on, I couldn't help it; my imagination tried to fill in the blanks. Could he be a con artist? I'd noticed he was very good at reading people, even when he first met them. Maybe an ex-con? But he was only twenty and a pianist. Why would a successful musician be a con man? When would he have time to be?

All of these possibilities, logical and illogical alike, didn't sit well with me, though. Some should, maybe, but they didn't. One thought in particular kept trying to be heard, butting its head forward like a stubborn billy goat.

I tried to shove it away before it surfaced. It was juvenile, fanciful and completely unrealistic. And really fucking ridiculous. And so impossible. And I was twenty-one and not supposed to think this way! But the thought popped up, anyway.

_He's not human…_

I blew air past my lips in a loud, dubious huff. _I've lost my mind._

If he wasn't human, just what the hell was he?

But for all my denial, other thoughts emerged. Thoughts of golden eyes turning black as he kissed me in bed, beneath the soft glow of lamplight; his eyes changed color whenever he felt strongly about something, I thought—the extreme ends of passion, anger or fear, and maybe other emotions. I'd seen it the first day we met in Seattle, and many times since, but I'd ignored it. Or not ignored it, maybe, but accepted it without much qualm, buried it for another day. A day like this one, apparently.

There was the cold skin that made me burn with want. The abnormal strength as he easily lifted me from the sofa I'd fallen asleep on and jogged me upstairs without becoming winded or breaking a sweat—no small feat for a man who was supposedly victim to muscle and circulatory problems.

His fast reflexes—the way he caught things I dropped, almost without looking, and caught _me_, often even before I had a chance to fall. The way he heard things in another room, when I couldn't. How, when we cooked together, he sniffed each ingredient, declaring whether it was "good" or not; he'd said he believed in his nose, not expiration dates.

_He's not human…_

None of this definitively proved anything, of course. Did it? People thought they saw spirits and Jesus in toast all the time. That didn't mean they existed. Of course, it didn't exactly mean they _didn't_ exist, either, dammit.

I knew I couldn't ignore everything this time. The thought was out there now, ridiculous as it was, and I had this sudden and great desire to confront him on some level, yet without coming out and asking, "Are you the Boogie Man?" But how?

In the end, passive aggression seemed like the best option. Steeling myself as best I could, I pulled the jacket down from the coat hanger and slipped it on. It was too warm to wear in the house, but I was determined to have Edward see me in it as soon as possible. What would he say? Would he acknowledge it at all?

Sliding my hands into the large pockets, I found a tightly folded piece of cloth stuffed in the right one. I pulled it out and shook it free. A pillowcase? _He's so fucking weird._ And then I laughed at the simple thought—laughed until tears streamed down my face, into my mouth where they tasted of salt. I thought _he_ was weird, while _I_ was wondering if he was inhuman? I snorted another laugh, imagining him as Spiderman, then as an alien. Hysteria had definitely set in.

"What's so funny?" Edward's warm voice floated from the connecting bedroom, a dresser drawer snapping shut shortly after. I heard a towel drop, followed by the rustle of fabric.

My laughter cut off abruptly. I laid the pillowcase on a shelf, figuring Edward would know what to do with it, and slowly walked out of the closet, slipping into my sneakers along the way. I'd come out of that damn closet with a lot more than I'd ever intended.

Edward looked over at me. He was only wearing a pair of navy boxers, and his hair was dark and flat on his head; rivulets of water ran down the sides of his face and neck. As he took in what I was wearing, the smile on his face faded.

"I found my jacket," I said as my heart tried to pound its way through my chest.

He stared at me, a little wide-eyed, and then that smooth, neutral expression descended—the poker face of all poker faces. He smiled, somewhat thinly and very artificially, I thought. "Oh, good," he said. "I'd been meaning to give it to you, but kept forgetting."

"Just Sunday, we decided it was lost for good. Why was it hanging in your closet?" My tongue was dry, and my voice cracked.

"Oh, I found it in the trunk of the Audi yesterday, when I was loading in the equipment," he answered easily, his eyes unwaveringly on mine. It was a confident answer, one that almost made me falter, but then I noticed how rigid his posture was, how he stood abnormally still. He was lying—and well, too, but not well enough to fool me. Not this time.

"Oh," I said.

There would be no reason for him to find the jacket in the trunk of his car. I'd never ridden in his car with it on; even on our first date, I'd worn his jacket. The one I was wearing now had already gone missing then. Had Edward had it, even before our first date? What did _that_ imply? And if he hadn't, why was he lying now?

I considered confronting him, laying everything out there, but the day was getting on, and I needed time to process all these ridiculous ideas. Did I really believe Edward could be something _other_ than a human? It seemed insane to even consider that as a possibility. And, in the unlikely chance that he was—a what? an alien? a monster?—what would I do with that knowledge? What _could_ I do with it? Did other people have experience with this? It seemed fucking unlikely.

Edward studied me with obvious caution. I watched as his forearm muscles rippled with some pent up energy, reminding me strangely of when a horse's withers twitch beneath flittering flies. His fingers clenched and unclenched beside his legs. Despite having a calm and neutral expression on his face, he also somehow managed to look like he was caught between a desire to bolt from the room or attack something.

His eyes, golden when I'd first entered the bedroom, were now coal black orbs that contrasted starkly with the whites of his eyes and the paleness of his skin. He was wild, a cornered beast, and I thought that maybe for the first time since we'd met at The Rosebud, we both knew it, to some degree, both saw it, both felt it. It was the elephant in the room, and it'd grown larger.

_Not today_. I couldn't do this with him today. I needed to see Charlie. I needed time to think, to figure out what this might mean and how I could possibly discuss it with him. _Hi, honey, I think you're a different species_ could turn really awkward if I was wrong, like one of those things neither of us would ever mention but would also never forget.

"Bella?" Edward whispered, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked at him warily.

The neutral mask melted away. He swallowed hard as his eyes searched my face. "I love you."

How many times in history had those words gotten men out of trouble? But it was obvious from the somewhat fearful expression now on his face that he wasn't merely using them against me.

My heart calmed a little, and I replied without hesitation. "I love you, too." That, at least, I knew for sure. Whether it was _smart_ that I loved him remained to be seen, but then that's the risk you take when you fall in love, isn't it? I'd learned that much from being with Jacob. Although, I didn't think just anyone had the issue of potential inhumanity going against their relationship.

I glanced at the clock. 10:28 a.m. "We should get going," I said, my anxiety over Charlie suddenly escalating.

Realizing that I wasn't going to unleash the third degree just yet, Edward came to life again, his stiff posture relaxing, and he gave me a somewhat nervous version of one of his crooked smiles. He ran a hand through his hair, back and forth, to brush out excess water. One droplet made a loud splatas it met the face of a nearby mirror.

I moved across the room and stood before him. We stared at each for a moment, a current of tension buzzing between us, electric threads that seemed to whisper, _He's been lying to you_.

Slowly, hesitantly, I leaned up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. His skin was still warm from the shower, and unyielding as always. And _his_. Whatever he might or might not be.

"Everything's all right," I said, mostly to comfort myself.

Edward nodded and kissed my forehead before putting his hands between us. My knees were locked, my own body stiff as he zipped the barn jacket almost up to my chin. "Better zip up," he murmured. "It's cold out."

* * *

"Thanks for coming with me," I said in the car as we made our way to Forks.

Edward smiled softly and reached over to hold my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. His skin was cold. Was it really just a circulation problem?

"What do you think you're going to do about housing?" he asked.

In an attempt to make conversation, I'd told him about Lauren and Angela's big news and how it put me in an awkward position, particularly with the potential of Leah Clearwater becoming one of my new housemates. He'd seemed to take great offense over that one himself, and was eager for me to find a solution to the problem.

"I'm not sure what I'll do," I confessed. "I could live in Forks, but if I move too early, Charlie will know I'm not going to school. I can't risk that. But if I want to move, I should do it soon, so I can find someone to take my place in the house. We'll all have to see to it that the lease is changed and that there are no major penalties for all this."

"You'd have more time with Charlie if you lived with him." His eyes flickered over to me. "You'd have trouble going to your jobs in Port Angeles, though." The tight-lipped expression on his face seemed to suggest he didn't think that was necessarily a bad thing.

"I can't live with him, anyway," I said, sighing. "It would hurt too much, to be there all the time. I know that's awful of me, but it's true. And even if it wasn't like that, it would only be a matter of time before he'd find out what I've been doing and would feel guilty. I can't do that to him. Not at the end of his life. He'd blame himself, even though it was my choice to make. It won't matter to him that I can go back to school next year. He'll feel responsible that I didn't go _this _year." I sighed. "He's so damn stubborn."

Edward's mouth twitched. "Reminds me of someone I know."

I snorted and narrowly resisted flipping him off. Did he realize how stubborn _he _could be? It might be easier to lead a cow downstairs than get Edward Masen to do something he didn't want to do—like tell me the whole truth, for example.

"I can help you pay rent," Edward offered, his eyes—for once—steadily on the road ahead. "You could quit at the restaurant, too."

I pulled my hand from his. "No way," I said.

"Why?" His brows furrowed. "It wouldn't be a problem."

"It doesn't matter if you have the money, I said _no_."

"What other options do you have?" he asked, then pursed his lips.

I ducked my head in thought. My hair fell forward, encapsulating me in a brown cave as I stared at the charcoal-colored upholstery of Edward's Audi. The truth was my options were slim if I didn't want Charlie to find everything out, and I knew it.

"See?" Edward said, knowing I'd come to the conclusion he wanted. Frustration was evident in his tone. "You don't have another option. Let me help you."

I looked over and glared at him. "This isn't 1908, Edward. It's 2008. I don't want to be some kept woman." That would never be me.

He seemed to be grinding his teeth. Pale fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and I thought I heard the creak of tearing leather. Was he strong enough to break the steering wheel? Not that I wanted to find out, when we were flying down the highway at a hundred miles per hour.

"_Kept_ implies ownership, as much as anything," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "If anyone in this car owns another, it's _not_ me." He looked over at me, his eyes shifting over my features. "Do you understand?"

What on earth did he expect me to say to that?

I looked away from him, out my window, where the evergreen color of trees blurred together with brown trunks. "This is ridiculous." This whole fucking day was turning out to be, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"It's _not_ ridiculous that someone would want to help you have more time with your dying father," he argued, his aggravation palpable. "_Particularly me_, particularly when I'm able. Don't be stubborn about this." I looked back at him and watched as he pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator. We lurched forward down the 101. "Do you have any idea what I would give to have one more day with _my_ father? It's within my power to give you and Charlie more time together. Let me."

"You and the Cullens seem to think it's your job to rescue me."

Sometimes Edward had a serious Superman complex. I pulled at the edge of my jacket distractedly. _Or maybe he _is_ Superman_, I thought dryly. _Am I Lois Lane?_ I didn't want to be.

"It's not that," he protested.

"I don't want to be rescued, and I don't need _charity_."

"Then live with me. Then you wouldn't have rent to worry with, at least."

"What?" Was he crazy? "No. That-that's the same exact thing."

"It's not! And you practically live at my place, as it is!" he said, his voice rising an octave.

Not to be outdone, I matched him, decibel for decibel. "Don't act like we don't stay at my place, too!"

We were both quiet for a moment. Edward was stiff and narrow-eyed. I was fidgety and breathing loudly enough for the both of us. My face felt hot with anger.

"I need to do this for myself," I said a while later, when I'd finally calmed down.

"Why? You asked Renée to come help. Why is she allowed, and I'm not?"

"Because she was his wife once, and he's my father, that's why. It should be our responsibility—no one else's—and since she's not going to do a damn thing, it's just _my_ responsibility." The thought of Renée's nice, but generally dismissive attitude on the phone when I'd asked her to come help with Charlie was still a sore spot. She didn't want to make things awkward between Phil and her.

"He is your father," Edward agreed, "but that doesn't mean you have to do everything alone, especially if doing so comes at the expense of losing time with Charlie." He shook his head. "Sometimes I forget how young you are."

Blood has a way of heating up very quickly. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"That you're twenty-one," he said.

_What a hypocrite! _"And you're twenty!"

He snorted. "Yes, and both my parents have been six feet under for years now. I have wisdom here that you don't yet—plain and simple. Consider taking my advice this one time."

Folding my arms over my chest, I didn't reply. If he was so damn smart, he could read my mind and figure out what I wanted to say to him, expletives and all.

"Fine, be stubborn," he growled as he jerked us around a curve so hard that my seatbelt locked. "Do whatever you want."

* * *

Panic stole over me as I knocked on Charlie's door for the third time. I could hear the television going inside, but no other sound. I fumbled about for the house key that was hidden under the eaves by the door. My fingers were shaking as I brought the key to the lock.

Without saying anything—since we still seemed to not be on speaking terms—Edward took the key from me and unlocked the door before I could have a meltdown on the welcome mat.

I burst inside and rushed into the living room, not even bothering to remove my muddy sneakers. Charlie was there, lying back in his recliner. He was alive, too, breathing erratically—but breathing, just the same—and in a deep, deep sleep. I wanted nothing more than to crush him in a hug, but I didn't want to disturb him. Rest was good. Rest was painless. I contented myself with a kiss to his forehead.

Edward had come into the living room and stopped before the television, his eyes narrowed at the screen.

"A candlelight vigil was held last night in honor of the missing and dead of Seattle," a crisp female voice said on the midmorning news, her eyes gently shifting as she read from a teleprompter. "It coincided with a similar event in Portland, Oregon, which has also experienced numerous unsolved murders and missing persons cases over the past two months. Police say—"

"Mind if I turn that off?" I whispered, finally breaking the silence between us.

He glanced at me, shaking his head, and I hit the _off_ button. I couldn't take hearing about killing or death or any of it. I wished the people of Seattle and Portland well, but their problems weren't my own right now.

My heart was still pounding when I went to the kitchen to wash my hands and get a glass of water. Or maybe beer was what I wanted. Yeah, some of Charlie's cheap beer that tasted awful, but had a way of calming me—that way being about five percent alcohol. I wished it was thirty percent.

"Are you all right?"

Beer can at my lips, I looked over at Edward, where he was leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room. He regarded me with cautious, sympathetic eyes as the fingers of one hand tapped rhythmically against his thigh.

I swallowed the bitter liquid. "Could be better," I answered softly, thinking that the world wouldn't feel so off kilter if my boyfriend hadn't been lying to me—about _something_—for a month. "But I'm okay."

He nodded. "Charlie is, too."

"I hope so."

"He is for now," Edward insisted. "I'm sure he's just dreaming about walking in the woods with a friend. Good things, at least." He gave me a small smile. "He seems at peace."

Would Charlie walk with Harry Clearwater again in some tender afterlife? There was no way of knowing, but the idea that he might be dreaming of it now comforted me greatly.

I put the can down on the counter and looked at Edward, feeling a little wary of what I was about to say, unsure if bringing the subject up again was wise. "I'm sorry. About…before. In the car." There. First apology. That seemed mature for my age.

He shrugged. "It's all right, but promise me you'll give it some thought."

"What? I told you—"

Edward smirked. "Oh, I heard you, loud and clear. Did you hear me?"

I nodded.

"Good. I'm not trying to entrap you, Bella, by modern or ancient standards," he said in a wry tone. "But I do want you to have as much time with your father as possible, and if money is the only thing standing in the way of that…"

"I just don't want your pity."

For a split second, his eyes narrowed in what seemed like anger, but then his face smoothed out. "That's good," he said, "because you don't have it." He shrugged one shoulder. "Almost everyone has to watch a loved one die. What you're going through is tragically normal, if prolonged, I'm afraid. So, no, I'm not trying to help you out of pity, only out of love."

He smiled somewhat shyly and added, "Perhaps I want you to come live with me, anyhow. Did you ever think of that?"

Feeling thoroughly chastised, yet also warmly comforted, I said, "No promises, but I'll think about it." _After I know whether you're human or not._

"That's all I ask," he said.

* * *

After going through the usual routine of cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, I decided I'd cook a late lunch. Charlie had already eaten whatever Alice or Esme had last brought, and he might be hungry when he woke. At least, I hoped he would be. Each time I saw him now, he looked less like my father, and more like some baby bird—all bones and gangly awkwardness. I wasn't sure he could even gain weight now.

"Would you go to the store for me?" I asked Edward, my head buried in the refrigerator as I cleaned the back of a shelf. It didn't really need cleaning, but cleaning it gave me something to do. Sitting still didn't seem like an option, what with my father wheezing in the other room and Edward hovering, looking more and more inhuman every time I looked at him.

"Sure," he said. "Just tell me what to get—in detail, mind." He walked past me, patting my bottom familiarly as he went. The fridge did nothing to cool the blush that came to my face. Whatever Edward _might_ be, there was still quite a bit of man under it all. For better or worse.

Trying to describe to Edward the items needed for lasagna proved too difficult, so steak and potatoes it was. Charlie would be thrilled. Edward seemed less so, but said it would be fine.

"I'll be back soon," Edward said at the front door. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he leaned forward and pressed cool lips to mine.

He'd intended for it to be a simple kiss, but I deepened it, overcome by too many emotions at once. For one, Edward was my anchor, the way I grounded myself around Charlie, and I always craved his solid vitality when I was faced with the terror of death. But more than that, I felt the need to test this—to test us. Would kissing him still feel right, in the face of wild theories and deception? Thankfully, it did. I'd almost expected to kiss him and have snakes grow out of his skull.

No, it was a normal kiss. A very good, completely normal meeting of mouths that I always seemed to want more of.

I pulled away when I began to feel dizzy and breathless. Skull snakes weren't a danger. Suffocating myself in a fit of passion seemed like a dumb way to die.

"What was that for?" Edward asked softly. He licked his lips. "I'll have to remember to do it again."

"Just you," I told him, realizing the truth of that.

A shadow fell across his face briefly, but he hid it by leaning forward and kissing my forehead. "I'll be back soon," he promised again before swiftly turning and walking out the door, into the constant rain of Forks.

* * *

Shortly after Edward left, a thunderstorm began in earnest. November was Forks' rainiest month, and it was prone not only to its usual drizzle, but also to occasional thunder, lightning and high winds. When I'd first moved to Washington, the weather in November had seemed very alien. All Phoenix was really known for was heat…and more heat. I still didn't like this weather—the cold, wet desolation of oncoming winter.

A loud crack sounded—thunder or maybe lightning striking a nearby tree—and Charlie woke with a start. "Hey, Dad," I said quickly, so as not to frighten him, "I'm here. I've come to visit."

In a daze, he brought his recliner up straight and stared around blearily, much longer than was normal, even for one who's just woken. He never said so, but I thought his eyesight might be weakened by several of the medications he was taking, many of which had "blurred vision" as a potential side effect.

"Bells?" he said, sometime later. His eyes seemed to stare off into some world that wasn't mine. I was very glad I was with him; today was not one of the good days.

"I'm here," I said again.

"I'm glad," he replied. He closed his distant eyes and cleared his throat. "I miss you when you're gone, kid."

The simple comment, one he'd never make when fully alert, tore at me so deeply that tears sprang to my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I brushed at them hastily, thankful that he already seemed to be falling back asleep.

Hands trapped flat under my thighs, I sat on the old couch, listening to wheezing breath, bellowing winds and pattering rain. For a little while, the world drifted away into the depths of these sounds, until my breathing and the beating of my heart were just another set of sounds in an endless soundtrack of natural noise. I watched the trees bend to nature's will outside, their branching arms swaying, as if they were dancing to melodies only they could hear.

The simple inevitability of nature's power cleared my thoughts. Maybe things were simpler than I was making them out to be. I loved my father. I loved Edward. I loved the Cullens. Not much else mattered beyond that, did it? Maybe love didn't solve everything. Maybe it didn't have to. Maybe it was just enough to fix whatever lies and secrets lay between Edward and me. The wind whistled, and two leaves, caught on each other—one brown, one orange—flapped past the window. I found peace, at least in the moment.

Thunder rolled again, this time grumbling so that the walls of the house seemed to shake in protest. I felt the roar in my bones, so it didn't surprise me when Charlie jerked awake again, this time coughing. "Who's there?" he wheezed.

"It's just me," I said.

He didn't reply as he doubled over and let out another loud, rattling cough. I knew he sometimes woke with coughing fits, but after a couple of minutes, it was clear this one wasn't going to abate.

"Oh, shit. Where's your cough medicine?" I jumped up and ran to the kitchen in search of the bottle. There were no fewer than twenty prescription bottles scattered along the countertop, but only one bottle of liquid, and it wasn't the fast-acting cough syrup. "Shit, shit, shit," I murmured, banging around in cabinets to the sound of my father's agony.

"Bel-la," he called out in a strangled voice, "get me…upstairs."

I'm not sure how I did it, but my mind and body came together with acute focus. I could have done anything in that moment, and absolutely nothing less than what was required of me. Bending, I put one of Charlie's arms around my shoulders and, on the count of three, lifted him to his feet. He was still coughing into his hand, gasping for precious breath as I led him forward, carrying most of his weight.

At one point, we were at the bottom of the stairs, and it seemed like Everest stretched up before us, but in the next moment, we were at the top; adrenaline does such strange things. I led Charlie to the bathroom, where he promptly leaned over the sink and began to wretch. Specks of blood mingled with the fluid of his lungs in the sink, and my eyes burned with fresh tears. I could do nothing but watch and pat his back and whisper, over and over again, "It's okay." When I knew it wasn't.

I fumbled in my pocket for my cell phone. I'd seen Charlie do this before. In those suffering from lung cancer, this wasn't an emergency, apparently, but I still didn't want to be the only one here. I dialed the hospital first and told the lady at the front desk to tell Dr. Cullen that Charlie Swan wasn't well and that I'd appreciate it if he came to check on him. And then I texted Edward.

_Come back ASAP._

The heaving eased a few minutes later, but the damage was done, and Charlie slid against the wall nearest the sink, down to the cold tile floor, where he wilted over his knobby knees, utterly spent. "Sorry," he whispered hoarsely, taking me by surprise.

I knelt in front of him and brushed his sweaty, fuzzy head with a damp washcloth. Despite illness, a light dusting of hair had grown back, and it rasped against the cotton. "Don't you dare be sorry," I scolded gently.

Amused, he huffed a little at this. He'd said those same words to me countless times, when I'd apologized for my various injuries over the years. He'd been right all along, I realized. It really _was_ stupid to apologize for being human. Being human's an ugly business.

_Unless you're not human at all_, I thought, right as the front door opened with a bang. Just how fast had Edward driven?

"Bella?" Edward shouted.

"Up here!" I answered.

He was upstairs and at the bathroom doorway before I'd finished saying _here_. He looked down at me, eyes wild, then at Charlie. His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. "You scared the hell out of me. I'm glad I was already on my way. I came as fast as I could."

"I see that," I said softly, accepting the unnaturalness of it with surprising ease.

"Hey there, Edward," Charlie said, not looking up.

"Hey, Charlie." Edward patted my father's shoulder as he said to me, "Why don't you go get started on the steak? The bags are still in the car." He handed me his keys.

I began to argue, but Edward gave me a pointed look, glancing at my father by means of explanation. Oh. Male pride and embarrassment. Right.

All the adrenaline had worn off now, and rather than getting the grocery bags from the car, I sat at the bottom of the stairs a minute later, playing with the keys to the Audi and listening as Charlie protested against being lifted off the floor. Edward's stubbornness won out, only by a hair, and I thought with detached amusement that it was amazing all three of us could be in the one house together without butting heads at every turn.

I looked back up the stairs in time to see Edward's shoulders as he walked down the hall with my father's tired form cradled in his arms. I swallowed hard against the painful lump in my throat. Yes, I loved those men. Even if one of them might not only be a man.

After a round of cough syrup—ironically found beside my father's recliner—and another pain pill, Charlie slept again. Knowing I needed this time, Edward stayed downstairs while I skipped lunch and sat quietly with Charlie, watching him sleep late into the afternoon when Carlisle arrived with apologies for not coming sooner. I couldn't exactly fault him. There were other emergencies he had to attend to, and unlike Charlie, his other patients often had a chance of surviving when everything was said and done.

Moving ghostlike, Carlisle examined Charlie's breathing and pulse as he slept. I watched from a chair in the corner of the bedroom, which was stuffy from central heating. Charlie had been chilled after his coughing fit, and as a result, I'd covered him in blankets and cranked up the heat. My hair lay flat along the sides of my face, damp with sweat. I'd noticed neither Edward nor Carlisle seemed bothered by the temperature, and they were in long-sleeved sweaters.

Carlisle placed a hand on my father's chest and closed his eyes, his head tilted to one side. His face was calm, but intent, as if he was listening to some sound deep in Charlie's body, or perhaps he was praying. I liked to think he might be doing both.

As I stared at his relaxed expression and the white-gold of his hair, I realized with a sudden jolt that if Edward wasn't human—and he shared so many traits with the Cullens—they might be _something else_, too. But how _could_ they be? We'd maybe not been close until this year, but… How could I have missed it? Maybe I'd been sleepwalking for longer than I'd realized. Or maybe I really was losing my mind.

Carlisle's eyes opened, and he looked directly at me. His stare was warm and golden, like butterscotch, as he nodded toward the hallway. Wordlessly, I followed him, noting how every step I took made a sound, while his were quieter, lighter, like Edward's.

How had I never noticed?

The hairs on my arms raised again, but I wasn't afraid, only curious.

After shutting Charlie's door, Carlisle reached out and took my hands. They were large and cool, like Edward's, but somehow fatherly, like Charlie's. It was the same sort of parental feeling I felt from Esme, and it didn't make sense. They were only in their late twenties, not that much older than I was. I stared at our fingers—pale skin to pale skin, yet different somehow—and wondered… Would I ever know the whole truth? Did it matter if I didn't?

The calm expression was still on Carlisle's face when I looked up, but his eyes became sad. I felt my stomach drop. Not good news, then.

"Without doing more tests, which your father will likely refuse," Carlisle began, "I can't know for certain, but I believe the cancer has progressed more rapidly than I'd anticipated it would." He squeezed my fingers, sensing my panic. "That doesn't mean he won't live as long, only that he might need more care. I've always hesitated to give you an exact timeframe on his life, beyond saying he _could_ make it to Christmas. Any number of things can happen between now and then, with any number of results." He smiled faintly. "I've been a doctor long enough to know that."

"What needs to be done?" Edward asked. I hadn't heard him come up the stairs to join us, but looked at him gratefully now, where he stood just behind me. He reached out and touched the small of my back.

"I think hospice should come in soon—this week or the next," Carlisle answered. "Until that's sorted, I'll have Esme or Alice stay with Charlie during the day. They'll be happy to, of course."

"Hospice," I whispered. "Already?"

Carlisle squeezed my fingers again and nodded. "It's only to keep him comfortable. We can't be here all the time. I know Charlie appreciates his independence. We'll start with the minimum amount of care. Nurses will check in on him once or twice a day, but that's all for now. We'll make changes as needed."

In my head, it didn't really matter that Charlie would start out with basic care. I'd read all the pamphlets. I knew there were different levels of hospice care, some more extreme than others, but they all meant the same thing, eventually: Charlie was going to die. Soon. Every time something confirmed this, it was a shock.

Edward pulled me into a gentle embrace, my back against his marble-like chest. He kissed my hair. "It'll be all right, Bella."

As I thought of Charlie and hospice care and death and hidden barn jackets, I wondered… _Would_ everything be all right?

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ The chapter title is part of a verse from Tool's song "Lateralus."_

_I'm still replying to old reviews, but I admit that I'm pretty bad at it. (Sorry!) Do know, though, that if you've asked a question, I'll get back to you!_


	17. The Wages of Sin

**_Author's Notes (January 13, 2011):_**_ Thanks to the usual culprits—**duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**—for polishing words, making Bella less of a contortionist and making the end of this chapter much better than it was. I should also thank **afoolishmortal** and **spanglemaker9** for getting the word out about SotPM. Finally, thanks to everyone on Twitter. You helped me with vampire biology, math, history and sweepage. _

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm17-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm17-music_

**_WARNING:_**_ This chapter contains content that may be disquieting to some. If you are a sensitive reader when it comes to extreme violence (and all that can imply), I strongly urge you to skip Beth's tale. I can roughly explain its importance in a review reply if you tell me you need it._

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 17: THE WAGES OF SIN**

* * *

_Oh, I'm crying out mercy, mercy, mercy_  
_Hold my feet to the fire, baby_  
_I'm beginning to think that I might've underestimated you_

_"Hold My Feet to the Fire" by Ha Ha Tonka_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
It was only minutes past six in the morning when Bella squirmed in her sleep, wriggling her bottom against my groin. _God help me_. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. Not even being certifiably dead and unable to sleep was enough to stop morning wood, apparently.

Bella's heart rate changed, quickened as her body began to stir from slumber. I smelled the rush of fragrant blood pass through the carotid artery at her neck—a viscid wine that smelled of freesias and roses and crisply cut Bermuda grass. Foolishly, I licked along the slender column of her neck, feeling gooseflesh rise beneath my tongue.

"Mmm," she hummed, rolling her hips backward. Lacking as she was when it came to a sense of self-preservation, she _liked_ when I did this. Lacking as _I_ was in common sense, I gave in to the sinfulness again.

I pulled her closer and kissed behind her ear with a sigh, telling myself that that would have to be enough. I had to be careful, especially at the moment. Bella's scent fluctuated, ebbed and flowed throughout a month, as her body went through the ancient and mysterious motions of womanhood. It took willpower to be around her during her cycle, but the blood was different, and so minutely tolerable; it was a common scent to pass on a daily basis, one vampires adjusted to out of sheer necessity. That, I could handle. Somewhat.

It was the week _before_, a week such as this, which nearly drove me mad with want, not only as a man, but as a bloodthirsty creature. Her hormones would be the death of us. To make matters worse, they put her in a similar frame of passionate thought. I could smell it coursing through her, that barely contained pulsing lust; the desire to come together, to mate.

These were notions often ignored or denied in the modern world, but they still existed, still simmered beneath a more pristine surface of supposed civility, where men and women convinced themselves that that their brains, not their bodies, were in control. Being a creature forced to address the nature of head versus body on a regular basis, I knew such notions didn't exist without some manner of self-delusion.

Yet, for my and Bella's sake, I hoped the modern world was at least somewhat right—that the mind had the final say regarding consent. We'd survived a week like this in October, but only, I suspected, because our relationship had been mostly chaste. There had only been the one encounter at the Cullens' mansion before a week of pseudo-reprieve in the form of her monthly cycle. Not that that hadn't been its own kind of private hell. How would we survive this week now that I'd so unwisely allowed things to become more physical between us? I had no doubt that Bella would push for more.

I also had no doubt that I'd have considerable trouble pushing her away.

Awake now, Bella rolled over and gave me a small smile, effectively clearing my thoughts for the moment. She said nothing as she lifted a warm hand to my face and began to trace my features. Beginning at my left temple, she ran a fingertip up along my hairline until she came to the middle of my forehead, where she swept down along the bridge of my nose. She crossed over, beneath an eye, down a cheek, over lips.

I kissed the pad of her finger and regarded her as steadily as I could, though I was keenly and uncomfortably aware of the fact that I was being closely scrutinized. Her hand dropped to the pillow both our heads rested on, but she still watched, still studied. Was I passing her test?

I reached up and smoothed back a stray tangle of hair from her face. Though she'd slept a fair amount, she looked tired, the circles under her eyes nearly as dark as my own before hunting. "You're sure you don't want me to come with you today?" I asked.

Charlie's in-home care was to begin, and Bella had plans to go and meet the nurses who would be taking turns visiting him. They would tend him twice a day until he needed more constant care; he probably needed more care _now_, but he'd refused it.

I'd wanted to go with Bella to meet the caretakers, to help her assess their competence —mind reading seemed helpful, in such cases—but since finding the jacket and my somewhat ill-conceived and poorly-timed offer to help her financially, she'd been more distant and, as such, I wasn't invited along this time. Whether she was trying to prove something to herself or to me, I hadn't yet decided. Her mind, of course, was utterly silent on the matter.

"No, I'll go by myself today. I'll be fine," she said, none too convincingly.

Holding back a sigh, I nodded and tried to reassure her. "This will be good for him. And for you. You'll feel more at ease, knowing he's being looked after."

She nodded hesitantly as she chewed her lip.

Using my thumb, I tugged it free from her teeth and leaned in to kiss her, hoping to take her mind away from darker thoughts, but she drew back quickly.

"Wait. Uh, need to brush my teeth."

I lay back with a sigh and watched her scramble out of bed awkwardly; she wore only a pair of red underwear and a t-shirt. Gooseflesh covered her body as she sprinted to the bathroom, soft curves moving in delightful ways. She'd gained a little weight, thankfully, since I'd begun eating with her. She carried it well. Extremely well.

I discretely adjusted myself beneath the sheets. At this rate, it was going to be a long day.

"Can I kiss you now?" I asked teasingly when she came back into the room. Gently, I pulled her into bed. I was playing a dangerous game, and I didn't want to stop, even knowing I would eventually _have_ to.

Bella's mouth was warm as I slid a hand down her front, smiling into our kiss when her heart skipped a beat. But she didn't respond like she usually did, her body stiffening, her knees turning toward one another. She pulled away from the kiss.

This time was different. This time, _I_ was rejected. I didn't much care for it, frankly.

"Not today," she whispered, apologetic.

I asked what was wrong, but I already knew.

She wouldn't look me in the eye as she said, "I'm just not in the mood right now."

I wanted to tell her that I could change that, that all it'd take was a little work—her scent told me it wouldn't take _much_ work, even—but I knew better and had no desire to bend her to my will. Nodding, I took my hands away from her and turned to lie on my back, to look at the light blue ceiling above. I felt frustrated. On several levels.

"I've been thinking about us, is all," she said, answering my question. "About you."

My stomach muscles clenched, and I felt the slimy, clutching hand of nausea, as if I were preparing to throw up human food. I'd already done that last night, though. This nausea was borne purely from trepidation.

"And?" I prompted.

_And the jacket_, was what, not to mention the pillowcase. If I'd any blood left in my body, I would have blushed—from awkwardness, embarrassment, fear. Deep, burning shame.

"It's nothing bad," Bella assured me, but she sounded a little unsure herself.

I glanced at her. "If it's nothing bad, tell me."

She shook her head. "Not yet. We'll talk about it later." She smiled, then lifted a hand and placed it against my cheek, where she scratched rhythmically at the permanent, but thankfully light beard growth; the lingering evidence of my drunken carelessness before I was turned. "Relax. I said it's nothing bad."

Leaning over me, she kissed me chastely. The fire between us was gone, and I was left with an echo of coldness—a perception of it, rather than a physical feeling.

"I love you," Bella said, perhaps sensing my anxiety.

"I love you, too," I replied in a hushed voice. "More than you'll ever know."

As we lay on our backs, side by side, I silently faced reality. It was only a matter of time. We would have a discussion about the jacket—why I had it, what it meant—and she would be less charitable toward evasiveness this time. I knew it was coming, felt it in everything she _hadn't_ been saying in the three days since she'd found it. Was she angry? She might even be afraid; she knew as well as I that it wasn't appropriate for me to have it.

I was running out of believable lies, not to mention running out of the desire to concoct and issue them. But it'd never been about what I'd desired, not when it came to Bella's safety. That thought was sobering and extinguished any and all smoldering embers—at least for now.

* * *

For the forty-second time, I paced the length of the living room, trying to come up with a believable story to tell Bella. Lucky whimpered from where he lay beneath the piano bench, his chin propped up on his paws. He'd been watching me for a while now, his brown eyes following left to right, right to left, over and over. The whimper became a constant, high-pitched whine.

I stopped and stared at him. "What?" I challenged in an irritable tone. "It's not as if you haven't seen me do this before."

As if he'd understood, Lucky snorted and flopped his tail about, so that it hit the floor with a loud sound. _Swish-thump, swish-thump_. "Stop worrying," he seemed to say.

"Mm," I said, "dogs are supposed to tell their masters not to worry. I have ample reason to, I assure you." But the mutt was right about one thing: I wasn't getting anywhere behaving this way.

Eventually seeking more productive distraction that wouldn't drive Lucky mad, I went to the folders which held my victims' names. I had hours until Bella would be back. I might as well _do_ something. Sometimes I saw Alice now, when Bella was working, but there was still a wedge between the Cullens and myself, so long as they kept secrets. No, if I couldn't be with Bella, today I wanted to be alone. Introspective. Perhaps a little moody. It came with the line of work.

Particularly this work.

There were sixty-six folders, one for each year of my sins, from 1921 to 1987. There technically should have been more, but I had no means of knowing how many innocent lives I'd negatively affected by stealing donated blood, much less the names of those victims.

Some years were completed, my victims' voices unknowingly heard in orchestras throughout the world. Most were not. It wasn't a comfortable experience, dredging up their pasts with the full detail that infallible vampire recall allows.

I sat at the piano, leaving Lucky beneath the bench. Touching the names in the thirty-eighth folder—1959—I revisited my crimes. I'd headed south at the start of the Civil Rights Movement. Many of my kind had, but mind reading had narrowed my travel down to specific places, those where racial tensions were at their worst.

Where war and great civil unrest exists, vampires lurk in shadows, waiting like vultures, seeing a world flush with opportunity, flush with blood. It was no different then. A vampire didn't have to hunt so discriminately under such circumstances, where one crime was easily lumped with another and blamed on some human.

_August 28 – Beth ?_

I didn't know her last name. There had been no pleasantries shared between us before I'd taken her life, and yet from her thoughts alone, I knew she was one of my most innocent victims, a girl I'd not _meant_ to kill. It had actually been the boy with her that I'd wanted, but everything had gotten out of my very fragile control…

* * *

It was twilight when the young girl passed the nickel and dime store after visiting the nearby grocer; she'd waited until later in the day to do her shopping, to avoid as many people as possible. Her white skirt and braided, midnight-black hair swayed in the thickly humid breeze as she walked; a glow, the shine of sweat, was on her dark, cocoa-colored skin. I was sitting on a bench across the street from her, sifting through the thoughts a mile and a half around me, searching for my next meal.

Disturbed thoughts had led me to this small Alabama town, where the residents were barely containing one rage or another. Racial tension was nearly stifling, and the town was in decline since Interstate 20 had been developed, thus redirecting the flow of traffic—and much-needed business. Poverty and anger are rarely peaceful bedfellows.

I was counting on that.

Humans, I'd learned, eventually broke under stress. Someone would snap, either on purpose or by accident, but there was absolutely no doubt that it would happen. It was only a matter of time. I was thirsty and hoped it would be sooner, than later.

I watched the girl pause at a street corner, her brows pulled together. If she went straight, it would take her longer to get home—nearly five-mile walk in the cloying, mosquito-laden heat that got trapped between buildings—but the roads that way were main ones and better lit. If she went to the right, the roads were quiet and dark, but she'd make it home more quickly, needing only to walk four miles; the trees along that path kept it cooler, too; nothing could be done for the mosquitoes, of course. She sighed, knowing that she'd probably be in trouble no matter what she did. It was already well past the time her mother had told her to be home.

As she debated within herself, she wiggled the fingers of her right hand. A small paper bag was tucked under her arm tightly enough that she'd long since lost feeling in her fingertips. The bag itself held four oranges, which hadn't been cheap, but she was happy she'd saved up for them. They were birthday presents for her twin brothers, Noah and David, who were turning five the next day.

Her thoughts were youthfully innocent and peaceful, and I homed in on them as she contemplated how she could make her brothers' birthday special. Assuming the neighboring Mrs. Campbell would let her borrow some sugar, she planned to bake a pecan pie. Being a miser of sorts, the old woman would probably only part with half of what the recipe called for, but that'd be all right. The girl knew she was a good cook and could make do with what she had. She had the pecans, at least. They'd fallen from the tree in her grandmother's backyard, and she'd spent much of the night before shelling them until the tips of her fingers were raw.

The pecan pie decided it. If she didn't make it to her street soon enough, old and crotchety Mrs. Campbell would already be going to bed, and she _needed_ that sugar, even if she was given less than what the recipe called for. The girl turned off the main street, then, going down the quiet side road where the only activity was from crickets and the occasional, green-bodied wink of a firefly. She quietly hummed "Happy Birthday" beneath her breath.

I listened to her thoughts until she was out of range. It was always a strange feeling, to one minute hear everything a person thought, and in the next to hear absolutely nothing from them, like abruptly losing a radio signal. As much as my ability sometimes robbed me of peace, I heavily relied upon it and used it to quell my curiosity. I was sad when the girl went out of range some twenty minutes later.

The evening was still as people had gone home for dinner, and I began to wonder if I would have my own meal tonight. In this southern climate, I could only safely come out in the late afternoon, when the sun was easing past the horizon. With only half of a day open to me, my chances of a meal were somewhat slimmer. Nor was it the twelfth, the one day I allowed myself to rest in peaceful minds and drink innocent blood. I thought of the girl, of her pleasant thoughts, but I wouldn't take from an innocent this night. _I won't_, I thought to myself forcefully, commanding myself to obey, to keep the hunger locked down tightly.

But I _did_ imagine it, tempted myself with memories of mostly willing, good-hearted victims and their slippery-thick copper and salt. It had been eight days since my last kill—of a woman who'd poisoned her husband—and my throat was stripped raw by a hellfire, teeming slickly with venom. Only blood would soothe the burn.

As I was in the middle of replaying my last taste of innocent blood, a flock of blackbirds flew up in the distance—about three miles away, I judged. They flew frantically, a massive tangled horde of black-winged bodies, clearly disturbed by something below. At this hour of the day, they would have been resting.

I looked around the main street. No one was out; thoughts were quiet. I decided I might as well see what had caused the commotion. I was bored, anyhow. Again. Spending eternity trapped in a mostly one-track mind had a tendency to be monotonous.

It only took a few minutes of walking at a human pace for me to end up on the quiet side road the girl had been thinking of earlier. In these types of towns, it wasn't uncommon for main roads to suddenly drop off into wilderness, which is precisely what happened here.

Two blocks away, and I was on a dirt and gravel roads so narrow that likely only one car could travel along them at a time. The smell of oak, red cedar and sweet gum trees were heavy in the air, along with that wet, green scent that was purely southern _air_—thick and humid. A misty fog snaked along the base of some tree trunks, promising midnight chill.

I walked on, enjoying the increasing silence as more and more individuals dropped out of the range of my mind reading. Perhaps it was the mental silence that allowed me to hear the pealing scream in the distance.

_Oh, God. The girl._

Taking to the cover of the woods, I ran with purpose, weaving through trees, jumping over swampy puddles and bramble, toward the sound of agony. It didn't take long—thirty seconds, perhaps—for me to grab hold of Beth's thoughts once more. She was within range.

And in danger.

It would take me only a minute to get to her, but so much can happen in a minute.

"Stop!" she was crying, as she blindly clawed at a pale, blue-eyed face that hovered above her own. "_Please_!"

The boy's thoughts hit me like lightning on a dry plain, catching fire until I was left seeing only red—the red of my fury, the red of his blood. He was my meal ticket, then.

_Fucking cunt!_ He slapped her across the face with one hand while fumbling with the other to unbutton his fly. "Shut your mouth, Beth. We all know you give it for free." All black girls did. His dad said so. _Fucking sluts._

The boy pulled and stretched the neck of her worn shirt, until a small, brown-skinned breast was on display, stark against faded yellow fabric. Stark against the red of my angry thirst. Stark against the orange in the boy's peripheral vision; one had rolled from the brown paper bag, collecting dirt along the way.

Skirt pushed up, underwear coldly shoved to one side, Beth felt the intrusive push of willful flesh against reluctant flesh. She screamed behind a quieting hand that smelled acridly of grass and shelled peas. She knew the boy, and that made it all the worse. Her father was a farmhand for his father—had been for fifteen years. The betrayal was sharp, deep and personal. There had been a time when they'd played together, she and the boy, briefly, before it was wrong to do so, before their parents made them stop.

The boy was grunting like a hog, lost to fleshly sensation and indifferent to the tears that wetted his hand. Beth went still and closed her eyes, tight. Her mind tucked in on itself, went to a place where no one could hurt her.

Cutting off my air supply, I leapt out of the woods as I neared them, dirt flying up around my feet with the impact of landing. Silent, I slipped behind the boy and reached out, grabbing him by his neck, pulling him away from Beth, who gasped at the sudden relief. The boy came away with a startled yelp, his breeches hanging down around his knees. I locked eyes with him and bared my teeth before throwing him bodily, several feet away, his limbs flying awkwardly out to catch himself. He landed beneath a hickory tree, in a muddy bed of grasses that caught him with a wet splat.

My eyes met Beth's, then; her cheeks were stained with tears, but she'd stopped crying. She'd pushed her skirt down and pulled the neck of her shirt up, but she lay still again now, frightened and unsure. _What now?_ her mind screamed. I was just another white man, after all—just another man, period. Was I a good one? She would run, I thought, if she knew the answer to that question.

I strode over to the quaking form of the boy, whose whole right side was covered in grass and mud. He'd managed to halfway pull up his pants, mainly to hide the fact that he'd pissed himself in fear. He couldn't have been older than sixteen, if that, but he was old enough to know what he had done, to know that it was wrong, no matter what his father had said.

He stared at me, silent and afraid. I saw myself in his mind's eye, ghostly pale, black-eyed. The monster wasn't far from the surface, and he was thirsty.

_Oh, fuck. Those eyes…Not right. He's gonna kill me. _

"I am," I confirmed, using some of my air as I squatted down in front of him, sitting back on my heels.

"I'll do anything you want," he whispered.

"You can't give me anything," I said, "and you've taken enough." We both knew this.

With one more glance at Beth, I picked up the boy, marveling—as I always did—at how fragile and slight these creatures were, and how little they knew it. I carried him into the belly of the forest, leaving Beth behind. There was nothing I could do for her in the moment. I was too thirsty to be near her for any length of time.

I hated this boy. I hated his thoughts. I hated what he had done. And most of all, I hated that he'd ruined his life, ruined another's life. I hated him, because in some ways we were far too alike. I was merely the stronger monster.

"Please, make it quick," the boy begged. He lay limply now; one shoulder was dislocated from when he'd tried to run away, and I'd grabbed him. A fine layer of sweat was on his brow.

"_She_ said please," I reminded him mockingly, and his eyes went round and out of focus. He began to pray.

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…_

Sitting on the forest floor, cradling him in my arms, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to one ear. He flinched beneath my coldness as I used the last of my air to speak. "Pray harder. I don't think God's listening," I told him, and then sank my teeth into his skin.

The blood. It was all that mattered.

I sucked and licked his thick, sweaty neck. He was a pudgy boy, still round with the fat of youth and perhaps overfed; he was salty, very salty. He was exactly what I'd wanted.

When his body was no more than a hollow shell, I detached myself from him with a satisfied sigh and shoved his body away, now abundantly aware of the foulness about him, the foulness I'd taken into myself. As my senses returned in full, I registered a fast-beating heart, a human heart. Beth was still out there on the road, her mind on pecan pies and oranges. She was in shock.

Carefully, I wiped blood from my face and neck, licking the last remnants from my fingertips. I sat for ten minutes, forcing myself to breathe the night air, counting her heartbeats as I came down from the blinding madness of the hunt. It would still be dangerous to see her, but she was alone and young and—I looked at the boy's body in disdain—taken advantage of. I couldn't leave her there.

I returned to the dirt road slowly, trying to figure out what I could do to help her. Having spent time in the thoughts of the local authorities, I wasn't sure what good they would do for a young black girl, even one who'd been raped. I groaned. And now the boy who'd done this to her would be missing. _Fuck_. Had I made things worse?

It was dark out now, the stars shining brightly, and it was under this haunting light that I found Beth crawling around on her knees.

_Where's it gone? Can't have gone far… Wish I could see. It's so cold. I gotta find it._

She felt my presence and turned around so quickly that she fell back on her bottom. She was still crying, but I didn't think she knew that. "I don't want trouble," she said frantically, scrambling backward, her boot-covered feet finding no purchase in dirt and gravel.

I kept my distance as I replied, "I'm sorry he hurt you. I wish very much that I'd gotten here sooner."

The muscles around her mouth and eyes twitched, as if she might cry out—in pain, in anger, in something deep and corrosive—but she calmed herself, bottled it up, despite shock. "Don't matter. I been touched before. They take what they want." She shrugged bitterly, a grimace on her round face. She picked at a loose thread from her clothes.

I looked at her closely, and it was from doing so that I saw the blood on her skirt, where the boy had pushed it up around her thighs and hips, where she'd attempted to wipe herself clean of the memory.

Knowing better, I took a deep lungful of air.

For a long time, I stared at that red stain, trembling—disgusted with the situation, disgusted with the boy, disgusted with myself.

Why hadn't I stopped breathing before returning to her?

But I kept breathing, kept pulling in the scents around me—oranges and pecans and honey, earth and trees, sex and fear and salty sweat. I kept staring, kept seeing red, red, red. And then I smelled adrenaline as she realized I wasn't innocent, wasn't going to save her this time—if saving her is what I'd really done in the first place. I wondered. Had I saved her with good intention or had I been a predator of a different kind, before I'd ever pulled the boy off her?

I was moving closer, drifting like a deceptively lazy breeze, but I was aware of every sound, every tiny shift of nature, of the fine hair on Beth's arms. A hunter sees all, feels all.

It wasn't the twelfth, and as I pushed her head to one side, bared her neck to my teeth, it didn't matter. At least it would be quick.

As I drank, she stared up at the sky sleepily, still in shock, still wondering where the fourth orange had rolled. When it was over, I sat beside her stiffening corpse and watched the moon rise high in the sky. A thick, suffocating fog rolled in, settling low on the ground to shroud the faces of my victims.

* * *

"Rest in peace, Beth," I whispered as I marked down the last music note and gave the piece a title. "Blood Oranges." I slipped the staff paper into the plastic sleeves inside the folder, then closed everything up, tried to bury the memories and guilt—an impossibility, truly.

As if sensing my unease, Lucky whimpered and nudged my bare heel with his wet nose. It was a comfort. He'd been with me for a few years now. He was still living. I wasn't that monster anymore—or, I _was_, but I held him at bay. Even with Bella.

At least, I _hoped_ I did.

I moved from the piano bench and lay down on the floor. I always felt unnerved after composing, especially since giving up live human blood. There was a disconcerting dissension between the creature I'd been, and the one I was now, and a creeping fear that at any moment I might snap and become him again—become a slave to blood. There'd be fewer books, less music and certainly no Bella. I hadn't been clean for long—if I could even be called "clean" now—would I slip one day?

I clicked my tongue, and Lucky rose to come lie beside me. He cuddled close to my side and rested his chin on my stomach with a sigh. He was warm and completely nonjudgmental.

Massaging the scruff of his neck, I said, "You know, I think you're the only one who really knows me." I snorted. "Well, you, and perhaps Alice Cullen."

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

_Speak of the devil…_

"Hello, Alice," I answered, wondering if she'd seen me speak of her. "Calling to tell me the winning numbers for the day?"

"Ha, ha," she said dryly. "But, really, how much do you want to know?"

I laughed. "I thought you didn't like to interfere."

"I never said I didn't _like_ to. I said I didn't. Mostly. There's a difference."

"All right, Carnac. What is it?"

"It's Bella."

I sat up abruptly. Lucky grunted in annoyance and stalked off to his dog bed. "What's wrong with Bella?" I asked. "Is it Charlie?"

"Well, Bella's…okay," Alice said slowly, "but she is having a little meltdown."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she's getting trashed, and she really shouldn't drive."

I groaned. "Where is she?"

"At the Crescent Club, near Lake Crescent. Off the—"

"I know where it is," I interrupted. "Alice, is she all right? Is she safe there?"

"She's okay," she replied. "She's just upset, I think. Don't worry about her safety. She's drowning her sorrows with a couple of old guys, but they seem harmless."

"All right. I'll get going," I said. "Alice?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"What can I expect with her? Over the next few days."

"Are you _asking_ me to check your future?"

I huffed. "Perhaps."

Alice let out a tinkling laugh that echoed, loud and tinny, through the phone. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know. If I tell you, it's going to ruin everything—so, nope. You're on your own, I'm afraid."

I was beginning to think she'd been a witch in her human life.

"Go get Bella," she said, and I could tell she was smiling.

"I'm getting in the car now. Anything else?"

"A word of advice?"

"Might as well hear it, since that's all you're giving me."

"Just love her. It's all she wants. It's all you want, really. Don't make it complicated. And…try not to lie so much. Give her what truth you can."

I frowned, thinking over her words. "Do you see… What _do_ you see in our future? Not the immediate—the long-term."—if there could be any sort of long-term—"Can you see it?"

"There are two paths right now," she started vaguely, sounding exactly like a carnival fortuneteller, "and on both, she'll always love you. There's just some question of how long you have together."

* * *

The Crescent Club was a quiet bar tucked between a mass of trees near Lake Crescent. As far as bars went, it was a nicer establishment and only smelled slightly of urine, vomit and smoke. At least Bella chose well.

To say Bella was drunk was really an understatement. The amount of alcohol in her bloodstream was theoretically impressive and obscured her scent in the most disturbing of ways.

Sitting up at the bar, a dozen shot glasses littered around her, she'd attracted quite an older male following, but this proved to be as innocuous as Alice thought it was. They were buying shots with her and drowning them with commendable diligence, the only difference being that they were typical daytime drinkers and substantially heavier than Bella. I'd learned over the years that most women had no idea of when to stop, thinking they could drink as much as a man with the same results. This day, Bella didn't seem to care, one way or the other.

It was a wonder she was able to sit upright.

"_Edward_! What're you doin' here?" she said loudly—too loudly in the small pub—when she caught sight of me. "I din know you're coming!"

"I'm taking you home," I said, shaking my head and actually trying to hold back laughter. I shouldn't find this funny in the least, but the thoughts around her were innocent enough, and Bella did look rather…_tanked_. I tilted my head to one side. "How likely are you to be sick?" In my car, no less.

Maybe we should take hers…

"Pfft, I'm fine," she said, swaying a little, even though she was seated. "I could drink you under a table."

I did laugh then. "I think you're already well under the table, perhaps even under the pub itself." I grabbed her by her elbow, helping her to her feet. "Come on, then."

She resisted, but only slightly, stumbling against me, using my shirt for balance. It stretched under her tugging. "Hey, I'm not done with my drink!"

"Small miracles," I muttered as I tucked two twenties beneath an empty shot glass. I turned her toward the doorway and put my arm around her waist, lest she go careening off into walls like a haywire pinball.

"Bye, Frank!" Bella called cheerfully at the front door, waving to a rotund man in a Sturgis Motorcycle Rally jacket, who she'd been sitting beside. He turned and waved a meaty hand, smiling through the wiry curls of his substantial salt-and-pepper beard. He was missing a molar. From a fistfight, I suspected, not tooth decay.

"See ya 'round, Bellaaa," he said in a raspy voice, then belched with gusto.

"Making friends in high places, I see," I said as I made sure Bella was buckled in the passenger's seat. Again. She was being uncooperative and kept unbuckling it between giggles.

I buckled the seatbelt one more time and fixed her with a stern stare. "Don't touch it."

"Or what?" She grinned, a mischievous light in her eyes.

"I don't know," I said, "but you won't like it."

She laughed loudly, her head tilting back. For now, she was happy, but I knew there was a reason—or _reasons_—she'd gone to the bar in the first place. It was late afternoon, and I had to wonder when she'd begun drinking. I sniffed. Awhile ago, it seemed.

"What about my car?" she asked, and turned around in her seat to look out the rear window, even though her Honda was parked to the right of us.

"We'll come back to get it," I promised, giving her knee a very gentle squeeze.

"Okay."

She leaned over, then, and kissed my cheek. "You're good to me," she said with a sigh. Having tilted the seat back to rest, she settled down as we pulled out of the parking lot, a warm hand on my thigh.

* * *

Bella walked unsteadily into the kitchen from the garage. I held onto her hands and looked at her closely. "Do you want anything? There's food from last night…"

She wrapped her arms around my neck. "I just want you," she said, and one slender leg curled around mine.

"Is that so?" Without thinking, I grabbed her behind the knee and held her close, leaning back into the kitchen counter, so her weight was pressed against me. Even with alcohol obscuring her scent, I knew what she was on about. One would have to be fool not to know.

The question was what was _I_ thinking, reacting like this?

"You're a very friendly drunk." It would be better for us if she weren't.

"I am with you," she said in a low voice. "Only with you."

I touched her lower lip, felt her warm breath flow across my thumb. "That's a comfort."

Fingers began tinkering at the top button of my jeans. "Stop," I said softly. "You're inebriated. We are _not_ doing anything."

No matter how much other parts of me were considering it by giving me a play-by-play in my mind. Being with Bella in any intimate capacity was risk enough; to do anything while she was drunk, while her hormones were doing such devilishly wonderful things… I saw blood and broken bones. I saw mistakes and oranges and Beth. There could be no pleasure down that path, only agony. I knew well how good intentions could go awry.

Never mind the fact that Bella had clearly not wanted us to do anything earlier in the day. I didn't want her to regret being with me.

"In-eee-bree-aye-ted," Bella said, trying to mimic my lower register. She snorted a laugh shortly after.

Sighing, I kissed her forehead and let her leg drop from my hand. "_Exactly_." Bending at the knees, I swept her up in my arms. "Come on. Let's get you to bed. Maybe a painkiller wouldn't go amiss, either."

"Ooh, you're taking me to bed."

"To _sleep_," I said firmly.

"But I want to do _stuff_."

"I'm not even sure you're capable of that right now." Indeed, Bella was resting in my arms like a limp dishrag, her glazed eyes drifting casually between my face and the ceiling.

Bella giggled against my neck as I laid her down on the bed, and I found myself laughing with her. I'd seen her tipsy before, but not flat-out drunk like this. It was entertaining, even if a little unnervingly reminiscent of other women I'd seen in this state. And killed.

I made her take a painkiller and drink a glass of water. Passion went out of her with the softness of the bed, and I all but took her jeans off for her.

I climbed into bed beside her and smiled when she grabbed at the collar of my shirt, snuggled up close and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Bella didn't sleep peacefully, though. Whether that was from what had upset her earlier in the day or from drinking, I didn't know, but she tossed and turned for the six hours she slept, her eyes shifting uneasily beneath their covering lids. She dreamed, calling out for me, calling out for Charlie. Her heart rioted under the effects of drink and stress.

At ten, she jerked awake, gasping loudly into the night.

"Shh, shh," I soothed, holding her close. "You're all right."

She stared up at me, her eyes darting left and right, searching. "Edward?"

I kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. "I'm here."

Fiercely gripping the unforgiving skin of my shoulder, she slowly returned to the waking world.

"All right now?" I asked some time later.

She nodded. "I want you," she said quietly, foregoing preamble.

My hand stilled on the back of her neck. "What's changed? This morning you didn't want me at all." I sounded surprisingly bitter about that and unnecessarily cleared my throat.

"I was still thinking," she replied.

"About us and me, you said?"

She nodded.

"And what conclusions did you come to?" I asked hesitantly.

"It doesn't matter." She sounded as perplexed as I felt and shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

"I just want you," she said and rested a hand on my chest. "More than anything else, _that's_ what I decided."

I felt a knot in my stomach come apart. I wasn't going to lose her. Not over the jacket, at least.

I teased her. "It took drinking to excess to realize this?"

"No, that came after the epiphany. I needed a break for a little while. From everything."

That I could understand, even if I couldn't appreciate liquor.

"And you're sober now?" I asked.

"Completely," she said, and then sat up and pulled off her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra and dark pink nipples stood out in the cold air of the room. I reached out and brushed a line from the hollow of her neck down to the edge of her underwear.

"You're beautiful," I told her.

We bared ourselves to each other, then, vulnerable yet bold in the night. I traced the fluid lines of her body, traversed the scars and bumps and bruises that made up the roadmap of her humanity. I saw her flaws and treasured them all, simply because they were hers, because they meant she was alive.

Against my better judgment, we played with fire, each of us standing close enough to the flames to get burned; each of us impassioned enough not to care. I breathed in her scent as we faced each other and moved together, her leg thrown over my hip.

Here, nothing but us mattered. We were safe from the past, safe even from inevitable futures. There was no death, no Charlie, no blood—simply us. It wouldn't last, I knew, but I grabbed hold of it now.

She slid along the length of me, feverish and slick and wanting. If we were to tilt, only slightly, all bets would be off.

_We should stop_, a part of me thought, but I only held her tighter.

"Make love to me," Bella said, breathless.

I couldn't think straight. Her blood pumped wildly, flooding up and down twisting vascular highways. I smelled her need, her heat, her deep desire for me. And I kept breathing it in, wanting more. She smelled of roses and freesia, crisp grass and sex.

And I nodded.

Parts of me were frightened, but more parts were willing, and so it was that I found myself on my back as Bella slid down, her hands braced against my chest, her dark brown eyes open and staring into mine. Her body warmed my own as she moved over me, as I pushed upward; we almost felt the same, beneath her smoldering heat.

I grabbed hold of her waist, desperately needing to touch her with my hands, to know that this wasn't another one of my farfetched fantasies when it came to Bella.

It wasn't.

Echoing the burn in my throat, her skin, her whole body, was a flickering flame, bright and hot in the night. Her abdominal pulse thumped beneath my thumbs.

Bella twisted her hips and gave me a small smile as she placed her hands over my own. "Not so tight?" she asked, patting my knuckles.

I immediately let my hands drop to the bed. My body froze beneath hers. "I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" I frantically looked over her stomach, her hips, her breasts—anywhere I'd touched her—but I couldn't see bruises.

_Yet_.

I was still taking inventory, when she put a hand to my cheek. "Edward? Look at me." I forced myself to look into her eyes and was surprised to only find love there, not revulsion. "It's okay," she said. "I'm not hurt. I'd tell you if anything hurt." She smiled gently. "I'm okay. Really."

"I can't lose you," I whispered. I didn't like how ominous that sounded, when spoken, but it was the truth. Losing her was not an option.

"You won't lose me," she said simply, and began to move again, this time leaning close, veiling us in dark waves of hair. She took my hands, and I let her guide them to her hips.

It was no small effort to hold back as a monster. I was so very afraid, but Bella was confident, more so than I'd ever seen her, and I slowly allowed myself to find solace in that. I marveled at her body, which fit so well, so warmly against my own. In spite of our temperature differences, sweat beaded on Bella's breasts—a sign of laboring love.

She groaned in low tones as I pulled her hips down—pushed my hips up—harder, sometimes faster. "That's it," I encouraged, smiling as I felt her thighs shake in anticipation.

It was dangerous, but soon all I could think of was how I wanted her to feel, how I wanted to feel. Loved. Alive. Free.

I breathed her in, savored the burn. She lived. I touched her. She remained unbroken.

I was perhaps still a monster, but I was not the same monster. Because of her.

Something inside me healed—that painful ache of loneliness—as she let go around me, as I felt the undulating notes of pleasure ripple through her body, heard them as they came tumbling from her mouth in one sustained cry. It was a feeling, a sound that called to me, siren-like, and I came inside her, holding her firmly by her thighs, trembling and hissing through my teeth as I held back my strength. She laced our fingers and threw back her head, exposing a long, slender throat that ticked on both sides with the sign of lively, flowing blood. I watched, not out of thirst, but out of wonder.

"I love you," I said once we'd come down from our high. It felt like there should be other words to give her—_I love you_ seemed inadequate—but it was all I had. I held her close, following the hilly ridges of her spine with my fingers, trying to express through touch what I had no words for.

We were still connected, and I wondered how long it was feasible for us to stay that way. And when Bella might want me again. Now that we'd made love, I wondered what else we could do—how and where and how often. I had a very thorough imagination.

My fantasies were interrupted when Bella kissed my shoulder and sat up. We both groaned a little with the movement, and then laughed, almost shyly. "You _definitely_ didn't hurt me," she said, grinning as she stretched. She was glowing.

_I'd_ made her that way.

"You have no idea how glad I am of that."

It was to be short-lived relief, as it turned out.

"Edward, we need to talk about _why_ you think you would hurt me," she said, quirking a brow. And I saw that determined glint in her brown eyes. It was a Swan look, I'd learned; a little owlish, as if, on the inside, she were saying, _Checkmate._

I stared at her with what I hoped was a neutral expression, while I prepared myself as best I could. She couldn't possibly be about to do what I thought she was… Could she?

_Oh, God._ She wasn't even going to let us put our clothes on for this. We remained naked, still connected below the waist as she said words that made me want to run from the room, run away from the whole state of Washington.

"I don't think you're human."


	18. Love, Secrets & Time

**_Author's Notes (January 31, 2011):_**_ Thanks to the fixer-uppers, **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**. _

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm18-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm18-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 18: LOVE, SECRETS & TIME**

* * *

_If there ever was a threat to me,_  
_If there ever was a hope,_  
_If there ever was an open end,_  
_It was you._

_"Patient Lover Be" by Jamie Barnes_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
"I don't think you're human," she'd said.

Bella made time stand still with her words. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but what _could_ be said? I listened to her heart's syncopation, watched as her breast moved up and down in compulsory response. My heart remained dormant, but it sympathized with the abnormal drumming of hers. Surely I was falling or collapsing in on myself; I could feel the muscles in my thighs clenching beneath her, readying for brutal impact, a push, a punch that only this woman could deliver.

After what felt like an hour but had really only been perhaps a minute, I realized I had been still for too long. I reached over and switched on my bedside lamp, so that Bella glowed warm and golden above me. She blinked against the onslaught of light, her pupils drawing back into sheltering curtains of brown. A blush lit her cheeks; she wasn't as confident with the light on.

I rested back against the bed's headboard, trying to appear relaxed. "What on _earth_ makes you think that I'm not human?" I finally replied, mustering as much disbelieving arrogance as I could when all I felt was fear.

Most humans would back down under such incredulity, but Bella, of course, was not most humans—and she'd had time to discover my strategies, and think about the statement she'd made. And, of course, Charlie's jacket, which I'd originally stolen to acclimate myself to her scent, had been physical, undeniable truth that something was not quite right about me. Having her go so far as to think I was inhuman, though, was certainly a surprise. What did she think I was?

She fixed me with a gimlet-eyed stare and asked in an equally condescending tone, "Where would you like me to begin?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary," I said dryly. Then I swallowed back venom. Anxiety made me produce it involuntarily, so that my mouth overflowed with slick sweetness.

_God, what _might _she know?_ I wondered. I considered asking, but ultimately remained silent, for fear of opening any other can of worms.

Glancing to where we were yet intimately connected, I felt a rush of joy, despite the tension in the room. I was astonished that we'd made it through the experience—_no broken bones! no blood!_—and was now caught between opposing desires of wanting an encore performance and an irrational need to protect my balls in the face of impending, spiraling-out-of-my-control mayhem. Though Bella couldn't actually do anything physically harmful to me, I did _not_ want to have this conversation naked and said as much.

Flushed as Bella's cheeks and breasts were, she made no move to get off me. "I figure you won't go anywhere this way," she said matter-of-factly.

My brows lifted. "Do you mean to say you _planned_ tonight?" I demanded, not sure whether I should feel impressed or offended if she indeed had.

Bella hadn't been scheming, though; her face told me that much. Eyes wide, she shook her head emphatically. "What? No. No, I mean, not all of it. Maybe something similar"—the blush deepened—"but not just before. _That_ definitely wasn't planned. At all." She fidgeted, picking at the corner of one fingernail. "It was great, by the way," she said quietly.

I touched her hip, my thumb skirting along the curve of bone. "It was."

Breathing in shakily, Bella got us back on track—the one she wanted us on, at least—and I was still as naked as when I'd come into the world; we were going to do this her way. "Am I right?" she prompted in a small voice. "I think I might be. I've thought about it a lot."

Clearly.

"You think I'm not human," I confirmed, this time without derision. I disliked the feel of the words on my tongue. They tasted bitter, like sickly blood. I preferred the honeyed lies, the illusion of humanity that I'd constructed for myself, for Bella. Uttering these words made it seem as though everything were crumbling about me. Was it?

_Am I losing her?_

Bella sighed. "I don't know what's going on with you for sure, but—"

"No one will believe you," I interrupted, sudden panic welling within. "It's a preposterous idea."

"That doesn't matter, anyway," she replied tartly. "I'm not interested in telling anybody. I get that it's a secret—_whatever_ the secret may be. I'd keep it safe."

I studied her, where she so sincerely sat upon me, her porcelain thighs framing my hips; her face pulled tight in earnestness; breasts moving up and down with frequent, shallow breaths. Why couldn't we put on clothes? I smelled her nervousness and heard it in the way her heart spluttered every now and again.

And I knew she was telling the truth. Bella would never betray me.

Yet what good could possibly come from telling her anything? It was against the _law_ in my world, such as it was, and knowledge often sits atop a slippery slope, especially when secrets are involved. In knowing one thing, would she want to know something else, something more; would she want to know _everything_? What did she want me to say now?

I feared telling her the truth, not only because of what it might mean for her safety, but also because of how she'd then see me. What if she one day found out about my past? What if she found out about my encounter with Renée? I could imagine her face: jaw slackened in horror or disgust, eyes narrowed in fervent anger.

For now, she watched me patiently, but the look of determination hadn't dimmed. I was losing control, and we both knew it. How easily I'd given into her tonight proved that, if nothing else.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" I asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.

"Definitely not."

"Well," I said, frustration clear in the one word, "I hope you don't mind disappointment, because you and I cannot have this kind of conversation." I touched her knees. "Now, get up."

Bella didn't move as she narrowed her eyes at me. "Do you just _like_ lying to me? Is that it? I don't—"

"No," I snapped, "I don't fucking _like_ lying to you, but I have no choice."

"But I said I wouldn't tell anyone!"

I grasped her shoulders. I wanted to shake her until she understood, but I kept my grip light. "You don't understand," I said quietly, but with force. "You don't even know what you're talking about. Telling you the things you want to know could cost me you, and that's too high a price for me to pay. I won't lose you." I let my hands drop back to the bed, where I balled the sheets up in my fists.

"Fine," Bella hissed.

In one surprisingly graceful move, she then moved off of me, off of the entire bed. The abrupt change was shocking to my senses; anxiety left me limp outside of her body, and, if not cold, then certainly aware of her absent heat. As warped as my relationships of the past had been, I was certain this was not how post-coital bliss was supposed to go, especially with a human. We'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. Several.

Fabric rustled to the right of me, and I jerked to attention, to see Bella's head pop through the neck of the blue t-shirt she'd been wearing earlier in the night. A few strands of her hair lifted upward with late autumn static. They crackled before settling.

"Bella?" I said in alarm.

Wriggling into her jeans and yanking up the zipper, she didn't bother looking at me as she spoke. "Lying to my face doesn't go over well with me, Edward."

"It's midnight," I said as she pulled on a sock and grumbled in annoyance as it went on crookedly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm _thinking_ you're going to take me home. I'm thinking I've made a mistake—a pretty horrible one tonight—if you can't even answer one damn question." She pulled on the next sock. "And, really, not answering tells me all I need to know."

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and grappled for my underwear and shirt. "Now just wait one minute," I growled, yanking boxers up my legs at a slow, human speed. "Tonight wasn't a mistake. I don't want you to think _I'm_ a mistake."

Part of me thought that I probably was, though, that it should be some other man playing this part in her life—a human casting for a human role. The thought made me feel like taking down a wall of the house, but it was true nonetheless. I couldn't offer her anything normal, and she was beginning to see that.

Was it happening now, then? Was this goodbye? I wasn't ready. I hadn't had enough time with her. I didn't want to let go.

Bella sighed as she ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the knots and kinks of sleep and lovemaking. "You're not a mistake," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm just…really frustrated. And confused. It's like I'm going crazy."

The pain in my chest lessened a degree, to be replaced by sympathy. Arm outstretched toward her, I took a step forward, but she held up a hand, signaling me to stop. I held back, leaving several feet between us. It felt like a much greater divide.

"You're not a mistake," she went on, "but I can't keep doing this with you, not when everything else in my life is up in the air. If you've got secrets—some that you can't tell me—that's okay. _That's_ normal. But this"—she lifted a hand to indicate me—"I know this isn't real, at least not all of it. I _can't_ live with that. I'm not some stupid teenage girl that you can tell whatever you want to, at my own expense." She straightened up, set her shoulders. "I-I deserve better. I think."

"I know you do," I said, dejected, one hand in my hair. I wanted to tear it out. "Do you honestly think I don't know that? I told you, Bella. I _told_ you I'd only make your life more complicated."

"Edward…" she sighed. "You also make things really good," she protested in a soft voice.

"Do I?" I asked with a bitter laugh.

"Yes, you do. But not knowing _any_ of the truth makes everythingfeel like a lie sometimes. People can't trust lies. _I_ can't." Her heart beat heavily, slowly, and I knew it to be the sound of grief. Grieving her, hurting her, was the last thing I'd ever wanted.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," she said, not meeting my eyes.

"What can I do to fix this?" A hollow, biting hurt that I'd felt two decades earlier in Renée's company and then later when I'd first seen Bella cry in the dark, writhed in my chest and stomach. The pain was a human feeling, one that let me know I was mostly powerless to what was coming, that the flood would likely swallow us whole, no matter how well I could swim against the current.

Stress rolled off of Bella, her scent spiced with it, her hands shaking. "I just want the one thing," she said. "Just tell me that. _Are_ you human?" She groaned. "God, I sound so stupid."

I stepped closer—Bella didn't stop me this time—until we were only inches apart, so that she was forced to look up at me, as I looked down at her. I found myself once again trying to see into her mind, pushing my ability, willing myself with everything I was to understand what she thought of me, of this, of us.

"You make me feel nervous when you look at me like that," she breathed.

"Sorry," I said again, giving her a half smile. "You're just very hard to figure out at times."

Bella snorted. "Welcome to the club?"

I took a deep breath. "You'll never ask me for more information?"

She gave a small, tired whimper. "That's such an unfair condition."

"I know, but that's my offer."

Lips pressed into a firm line, she watched me for a moment, looking for a weak spot in my will. There was none. I couldn't give her more than this. It was insane to give her this much.

"Fine," she relented. "Okay. I promise I'll…_try_ not to," she answered.

We both knew this was a promise she wasn't likely to keep, but perhaps it'd buy me time with her.

"I don't think there's any going back from this," I warned, knowing these words came eerily close to answering her question. I wasn't sure which one of us I was delivering the warning to.

"Edward, when I said I loved you, I was all in."

I swallowed back a knot in my throat, glad for once that tears were impossible for my kind. "You were about to leave, though," I pointed out, even as I didn't want to. "You still can. I'd never stop you." No matter how much I wanted to keep her.

"Only my body was leaving," she said quietly. "There's a difference."

I touched her hand and watched emotions play out across her face—grief and hope, weariness and love. And fear—of _what_, I wasn't sure.

What might we have been, in a different time, in a world with different circumstances, where I was a man, where a nomad hadn't found me in a Chicago alley and turned me into a monstrous creature? _I'd be dead now_, I thought dimly. More proof that Bella and I weren't meant to be.

Bella turned her hand and grasped my fingers with such fierce strength it got my attention. "Are you?" she asked, and I knew this was the last time she'd do so.

Could I tell her this one thing?

Alice's words came back to me. _Try not to lie so much. Give her what truth you can…_Well, if a psychic had told me to do something, I supposed that was as good of an assurance as I could hope for. Was Alice moving us in the direction she wanted? Were we moving ourselves?

None of it mattered. I only wanted Bella.

"No," I said, "I'm not a human."

Fourteen seconds passed in which Bella was completely silent, her eyes wide, her heart beating fast. And then, as suddenly as she'd panicked, she calmed and breathed out a stream of air between her lips. "Okay," she breathed. "So I'm right… Okay."

My brows shot up in surprise. "_Okay_?"

She nodded and let go of my fingers. "I just needed to know that at least."

I watched her for a moment, marveling at how she truly seemed to be calm. "Why aren't you running?" I asked, perplexed. "Aren't you the least bit bothered by this?"

To my surprise, she laughed. "You mean, would I prefer it if my boyfriend was normal?" She shook her head. "Normal's not all it's cracked up to be, you know. It doesn't guarantee anything—life or love," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "I've had a normal boyfriend. That didn't go too well."

I didn't think Jacob Black's lupine tendencies qualified as normal, but didn't bother to correct her notion; knowledge of one non-human in her life was more than enough.

Bella reached up a hand and pressed it to the middle of my chest. I worried that she might notice my lack of heartbeat, but hers was pulsing hard enough for the both of us, it seemed; I felt it through her palm. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_. "I don't care that you're abnormal… I'm not going to judge you according to that. Wh-whatever you are, you're not going to hurt me. Even if you can. I know that. Tonight proved that."

I glanced away from her. She put too much faith in me.

"I know you hold something back," she continued. Her hand dropped from my chest. "I see that now. I think I knew all along…"

"I'm sorry," I said and wondered how many times I'd say that this night.

"Don't be. I'm sure you'd be different if you could be."

I nodded.

"See?" she said with a firm nod. "I can't hold your nature against you."

I swallowed against another knot in my throat. "You can't say that. You don't know what's different about me."

"No." She smiled wanly. "But I think I'll figure out the rest on my own. Since you won't tell me now."

A prickle of fear ran down the length of my spine.

Hair had fallen into her face. I brushed it away and cupped the side of her face, ran my thumb down the jagged line of her scar. "What did I say about digging for clues, Nancy Drew?"

"Why?" she asked, pulling away from me and ignoring the epithet. "Why would it be so _bad_ for me to know the whole truth? I can't believe it would be as bad as you think. I'm…I'm pretty open-minded, I think, and you _are _a little prone to exaggeration, Edward."

"Perhaps," I said. "But what if you find out something you don't like?"

"So what if I don't like something!" she shouted suddenly, throwing her hands up in the air. "As if I'm not used to dealing with shit I don't want to!"

I waited for her heart to calm before speaking. "I don't want to be something, _someone_ you have to _deal with_," I argued gently.

But Bella had moved on, her eyes staring beyond, looking out the large window I stood beside, into the dark November night. "You're really not a human," she said. It wasn't a question.

"No."

"Okay." She nodded, her eyes still distant; perhaps she was in shock. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep some more."

"Here?" I asked, hopeful.

She nodded.

Trudging to the side of the bed she usually slept on, she slipped beneath the covers, leaving all her clothes on.

I stood on the other side of the bed, tentative. "May I join you?"

She didn't answer for a moment, but then her head bobbed.

As she lay on her side, I rested behind her, pulling her body to mine; she clutched my arm over her chest. It took two hours for Bella to fall asleep again, but in that time neither of us spoke. I held her tightly, as tightly as I could.

* * *

_Saturday, November 8, 2008_

Bella woke early, and we proceeded to carry on as if nothing had happened the night before. The problem with that was that it was obvious something _had_ changed. I was shy. Bella was cautious. We danced around each other, rather than together, uncomfortably evading conversations about the previous night. So much had been said, perhaps too much.

"Are you all right?" I asked over breakfast. She was very quiet, very still.

She licked strawberry jam from the corner of her mouth before giving me a faint smile. "I'm fine. Just a small headache from yesterday. Think I had too much to drink."

"Mm." No argument there. "There are painkillers in the bathroom cabinet."

She nodded.

I forced down another swallow of cereal and milk; it was horrible stuff that sat heavily at the bottom of my stomach, but I was determined to keep up the human façade, even if Bella knew I wasn't human. It provided me with cover I still needed, and it gave her some semblance of stability. I hoped.

"You're sure it's just a headache brothering you?"

"I'm sure."

She wasn't. I saw doubt and worry in the lines of her face.

We drove to the Crescent Club to retrieve her car in time for her eleven o'clock shift at Hal's. The windshield of the car was fogged from the cold, and I wiped it clear with my sleeve as she got the heat going. We still weren't talking—not truly. Words were spoken here and there, but nothing of consequence, nothing that might bring up the night before.

Car running, one foot inside the vehicle, she kissed me before leaving—gently, fleetingly, a warm ray of light across my lips. When we parted, she asked, "Mind if we stay at my place tonight?"

"Of course not," I said, thankful that she even wanted to spend time with me. "When should I come by?" I smiled. "I can make you dinner." The internet was proving very helpful on that front.

Shrugging, she sat down in the driver's seat and buckled up. "Doesn't matter. Come whenever you feel like."

I frowned at her brusqueness. "I'll make dinner," I said.

She nodded, seemingly indifferent or perhaps distracted, and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "Edward, I've got to go."

"All right. Have a good day." I leaned in and kissed her temple. "I love you."

"You too," she said. I stood back as she slammed the car door shut. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned nearly as white and bloodless as my own.

I watched her drive away; the fear and sense of loss were tangible.

* * *

_Sunday, November 9, 2008_

Bella's eyes were wild when we entered my house that evening. She'd wanted us to stay at her place again, but had changed her mind after seeing Charlie; it was quieter here, a place to think and grieve. She needed that. Despite the fact that Charlie was doing relatively well with his caretakers' help—as well as could be expected—he looked ill, very ill, and Bella clearly didn't know what to make of that.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced a few minutes later, opening the door in the kitchen that led out into the backyard. She saw me follow behind her and shook her head. "_Alone_."

"Bella, it's getting dark out. The woods aren't safe."

She bristled at this, but mostly managed to keep a straight face. "I'll be _fine_. I just need some time alone."

We stared at each other for a moment, neither giving in, and then I sighed, knowing she'd do damn well whatever she wanted, ultimately. I grabbed Lucky's leash from a nearby hook and thrust it into her hands. "Take Lucky." I didn't know what good the dog would be against wolves and bobcats, but he was something. I gave him a stern look as she clipped the leash to his navy leather collar.

Fifteen minutes and much pacing later, I couldn't handle her absence any longer. Anything could be happening to her in the woods. Even though she was within a mile of the house—I could still hear her heartbeat—it was too far, too potentially dangerous, especially with me unable to hear her thoughts.

My mind flipped through one terrible scenario after another. An animal could attack her. More likely: she could fall and crack her head open on a stone.

I ran out the door.

Soundlessly, I caught up to Bella—who was thankfully not losing blood from any gaping wounds—and followed her through the depths of the moon-washed forest. She never felt my presence, never turned around, and I felt the odd sensation of hunting her; I was, but it wasn't her blood I wanted. This time I knew. I only wanted to be with her, to understand and love her.

If she'd let me. If we weren't irreparably broken.

It was dark enough that human eyes would struggle. Bella tripped on roots every now and again, catching herself on tree trunks and vines, her gasps eating away at me; at least the ferns she traipsed through were soft when she fell. I hated watching her stumble, hated doing nothing when I could. Humans so easily hurt themselves, particularly this human with all her scars—twenty-seven of them—and bruises—three in the last week.

Eventually she stopped walking and dropped down at the base of a large cedar tree. I watched her from the needle-lined arms of a nearby spruce, wanting to go to her, but knowing I shouldn't. Lucky sat down with her and nudged her shoulder with his nose. She scratched his head gently. "Good dog," she whispered, her warm breath fogging above her into the cold night.

He whimpered and licked the arm of her jacket.

She talked to Lucky, then, telling him about Charlie, how she thought he only had a few more weeks, if even that, and I realized that she was telling my dog the things she should be telling me. I felt surprisingly angry—at her, at myself, even at Lucky. But I understood, too. There was a chasm between us that seemed impossible to cross.

"I'm so tired of _everything_," she said. Then she hugged her arms around Lucky's neck and sobbed into his golden brown hair; he whimpered again and scooted closer—taking and giving heat. I couldn't give her heat. This night, I couldn't even console her.

* * *

_Wednesday, November 12, 2008_

I felt her eyes on me. Studying me. Looking for answers.

"Don't," I pled and kissed her to distraction.

* * *

_Saturday, November 15, 2008_

There was a box of condoms on Bella's bedside table. Lifestyles. "The closest thing to wearing nothing!" the box promised. I snorted. _Sure._ I was still staring at the box when Bella came upstairs after her nightly routine, the pipes in the old rental house groaning after her shower.

She snickered as she passed me on the way to her chest of drawers. "Your face is gonna get stuck that way. Don't look _so_ disappointed."

"What?" I looked up. "I'm not disappointed." My voice gave me away, though.

Steam rose off her skin, and her scent filled the room. I breathed in deeply, licking my lips. I wasn't thirsty after hunting earlier in the day, but there were moments when I sampled her flavor in the air. Her monthly blood was no longer flowing, as it had been days prior, but I of course could smell it pass warm and lively through her veins. Even better.

God, it made me want her.

Her back was turned to me as she rifled through a top drawer. "I know you said we don't, uh, mix that way, because of the whole—well, anyway—but better safe than sorry, right? Last time…wasn't smart, even if you say we can't."

I frowned at the offending box, dreading the thought of latex.

Then I smiled. "So, does this mean you want to…" Perhaps I could deal with condoms, after all. She'd only let me kiss her since our first night. Our divide had so far been a physical one, too, as much as it was emotional.

Things were looking up.

When she turned around, she was grinning and blushing. She shrugged a shoulder, teasingly.

I laughed, feeling suddenly ten times lighter, almost giddy. I pulled her with me to the small bed. "You really shouldn't have bothered putting clothes on. You're most flattering without." She was only wearing soft pants and a t-shirt, but anything obstructing me seemed almost offensive. I wanted to tear them from her body, but I slowed myself, savored her.

_Perhaps we'll be all right_, I thought as I slid into the heated grip of her body.

* * *

_Tuesday, November 18, 2008_

Angela and Lauren were out. The house was silent, though I could still hear the thoughts of all of Bella's neighbors. Bella threw her jacket over the back of the couch and gave me a heated glance.

I knew that look. So did my cock.

She grabbed my hand and tugged. Grinning, I followed her; she could lead me wherever she wanted to go. To the stairs, where she kissed me until she was forced to come up for air, against a wall in her attic room, to the small bed that smelled of us.

Were words necessary?

As Bella moved over me, wet and wanting, her hands pulling at my hair as my lips latched onto dark rose peaks, I thought we'd found a new way to converse—a conversation of our own, made of fingers and limbs, mouths and moans; of Bella's heartbeat, of the low-toned growl I held within.

I pushed her onto her back and took her harder, the way she silently begged me to, the way I feared to; it always felt as though I were walking a fine line—performing a balancing act. She wanted me to take more, and I wanted to give more, but it was so frightening at times. I listened closely to the sounds she made, to the way blood rushed up and down in a race to the finish line, and sometimes, when I wasn't completely lost to the pleasure, I prayed to the god who'd kept her alive all the times before. _Lord, don't let me hurt her._

She hooked her legs behind me as I slipped a hand between us.

It was when she cried my name that I realized we hadn't spoken at all this day.

* * *

_Thursday, November 20, 2008_

How did humans ingest this? Cream cheese smelled disgusting, like a boy's locker room I'd once killed a man in, and somehow managed to only get worse as I followed the recipe. Skeptical, I looked at the tablespoon of dried oregano, then at the bowl of melted down cream cheese. _Surely these don't go together_. How was I going to choke this one down?

I'd learned over the last ninety years that having perfect recall didn't mean I doubted myself any less at times; perhaps that was one of those useless, leftover human quirks. And so it was that I raced back upstairs to Bella's laptop to load up the recipe again. I already knew what it said, but I _had_ to see it to believe it. However, I soon became distracted when I accidentally stumbled upon something I most certainly wasn't meant to see.

Bella hadn't cleared her browser history. There were at least twenty different paranormal and conspiracy theory websites she'd recently visited, along with the more suspicious of Wikipedia articles. Citation needed, indeed.

She'd also ended up on a few forums. Her username gave her away immediately.

There was a possibility that I was an angel.

**_clumsywordnerd:_**_ Hi, beachgirl06, can you tell me what the angel you saw looked like? Did you notice the color of his eyes, by any chance?_

**_beachgirl06:_**_ They were the most startlingly beautiful blue! Like jewels set in a porcelain face of perfection._

Someone had read too many romance novels.

Or perhaps I was a demon.

**_clumsywordnerd:_**_ For a while my mom went to a Baptist church, and they always preached that demons were really beautiful (so they could lure you in). Can you give me any details on that, on what they might look like or do? Thank you in advance! :)_

**_InChRiStSpOwEr:_**_ if u think u've seen one, visit your minister! i'll be praying for u! this is serious!_

**_willingandabel:_**_ You can't *see* demons I don't think. Their part of the spiritual realm._

I really hoped Bella wasn't putting stock into anything these tinfoil-hat-wearers were spouting. She'd be ineffectually throwing holy water at me before I knew it.

Drumming my fingers on her desk, I continued to go through her history. I should have felt guilty, but considering I'd had moments where I'd wanted to kill her and had most definitely stalked her, this seemed to be a fairly minor sin in the grand scheme of things. Besides, she'd stuck her nose into my music folders before. I'd _let_ her, but that was beside the point.

Her most recent search history went like this:

_angels_  
_angel physiology no wings_  
_hebrews 13:2_  
_demons_  
_alien sightings washington_  
_alien sightings washington STATE –D.C._  
_edward masen news_  
_hard skin black eyes_  
_hard skin gold eyes_  
_ceiling cat lolcat_  
_laptop noise_  
_edward masen musician_

She wasn't anywhere close to finding out the truth, and what I suspected might be frustration seemed to make her abandon her search every now and again. It was strange. As glad as I logically was that she'd not found anything out, I was also somewhat disappointed. It was an irrational emotion; as if Bella would have anything to do with me if she knew the truth—as if she _should_!

Still, my secret was most uncomfortably wedged between us, and we both knew it. The idea of full disclosure was at times alluring, especially now that she knew that I at least wasn't human. But would the whole truth drive her away or bring her closer? At times now, she seemed so distant, even when we were in the same room, even when I was buried in the depths of her body, conversing in that wordless language that we'd developed.

The oregano did go in the cream cheese.

* * *

_Friday, November 21, 2008_

"What is that _smell_?" I complained in a muffled voice, while pinching my nose.

Bella sniffed as she locked the front door to her home behind us. "I don't smell anything."

"You can't smell that? It's appalling!" The scent was pungent, and it made me uncomfortable. I touched Bella's wrist. "Wait here."

"What?" she laughed. "Why?"

I held up a finger to her and proceeded to walk through the living room and kitchen, down the narrow hallway that held Angela and Lauren's rooms. The stench was everywhere, but there was seemingly no cause for it. "We _have_ to open windows," I said, upon returning to Bella's side. It was as if something had died in her house.

"No smelly cat burglars hiding anywhere?" she teased.

"No," I relented with a smile, "but I think perhaps Angela or Lauren are keeping a dead body somewhere." I opened a window and inhaled deeply.

"I really don't smell anything," Bella said, scrunching up her nose as she sniffed again. "I think Leah would've said something when she visited Lauren earlier, anyway—to see the room she'll be renting. Leah was never one to keep quiet. If there'd been anything wrong with the house, she would've said so, I think."

"Ah," I said blandly. Leah Clearwater. The Quileute. And she _was_ a werewolf. Carlisle had warned me of their odor, but he'd been far too polite about it. Disgusting. Rotting corpses had nothing on werewolf stench, I decided. There was no way I was having Bella smell like that on a regular basis. Nor did I want her around the wolves and their potential danger…or around Jacob Black. "Imprinting" or no.

I leaned close to Bella and breathed in her scent. She always incited a burn, but dealing with fire seemed quite preferable to smelling _the rot_ at the moment.

"And is Leah moving in soon?"

Bella shrugged. "Once Lauren leaves. She's only staying now…for me," she whispered. "'Cause of Charlie."

"She's a good friend," I said. Nodding, Bella walked into the kitchen, leaving me to trail behind her. "Bella?" I called.

"Hmm?"

"Have you given any more thought to living elsewhere, when Leah moves in?"

Her steps faltered. She knew as well as I that I didn't wish her to live merely anywhere. I wanted her with me.

"Not really," she said a minute later. Her pulse quickened with the lie. It made me smile.

I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching as she cleaned a leftover dinner plate over the sink. I could only see her profile, but I knew her brows were furrowed, pulled down over her eyes, creating that sharp 'V' that frustrated me so.

"Edward," she sighed, "you're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Staring a hole into me," she said, half-laughing.

"Sorry," I sighed. "I can't help it."

She smiled faintly as her shoulders relaxed. "I know."

Did she? After seeing her browser's history, I had to wonder what she _did_ know, or at least what she thought she knew. Would I lose her to theories, to secrecy or to lies? Would she eventually figure out the truth; would I lose her then? Sometimes it felt as though Bella were slipping through my fingers. Our time was limited. And precious.

A greedy and selfish creature by nature, I wanted as much time with her as I could have. I'd marry her, if I thought she'd say yes, if I thought it'd give us more time. But I'd take what I could have. _And I'll leave when the time is right_, I told myself. But until then… Until then, I'd have her—anything she'd give me.

I went to stand behind her, pressing my body close to hers. I fit one hand to the curve of her waist, the other along her neck, where I felt the rhythmic throbbing of her pulse; my metronome. "Live with me," I breathed into her hair.

Bella dropped a fork in the sink. It clanged and scraped along the stainless steel. "Edward…"

"Do you love me?" I asked.

"Don't do this."

"Do you?" I pressed as I slid my hand up along her ribs. I smiled as her breathing became erratic.

"Probably against my better judgment, but you know I do," she whispered. "But I don't know… I don't know _what_ you are."

"I'm yours," I said easily. "Let that be enough," I begged against the shell of her ear. "Let _me_ be enough, even if I don't deserve such a concession or you."

Bella's hand came up to rest over mine, where I now held her left breast, feeling her heart, feeling her life. "This isn't about my father or helping me out?"

"It never was. Not entirely," I admitted. "I want to help you as much as you'll let me, of course, but more than that, I want you with me." _Forever_, I thought, but I closed my eyes and willed away the ghost of a scarlet-eyed beauty. "I'll let you pay for half of the groceries if it'll make you feel better."

She snorted. "Maybe I'll figure you out if we're together more," she said.

I feared she might, but it was a risk I was now willing to take, if only we could find our way across the rest of that yawning divide between us, if only I'd know she was safe with me and not entertaining damnable werewolves.

Holding her close, I kissed her neck. "Is that a yes?"

She sighed. "Probably against my better judgment, yeah." She leaned back into me. "I want to be with you. Nothing's changed that."

* * *

_Late Sunday Night, November 23, 2008_

We made no formal arrangements, but small changes took place over the weekend. For the first time since Bella had grieved for Charlie in the woods, we stayed at my place; but even though more of her clothes were in my closet, it wasn't truly _our_ place yet. She'd made no move to rent out her attic room to someone else—hadn't even told Angela or Lauren about the decision to stay with me. I supposed the room was a failsafe, in case things didn't work out between us. It was a smart decision on Bella's part, given all my secrecy, but it was still annoying. I wanted her to trust me, no matter how much I realized that was an irrational desire. Who would trust a liar?

Bella's breath was a steady, warm whisper against my neck now. She had fallen asleep on top of me, exhausted after lovemaking and continued stress. I didn't know how she could possibly stand my cool skin, even with the heat of an electric blanket surrounding us, but she'd molded herself to me as lichen on a branch.

"I love you," I whispered, while running my hands up and down her back, a part of my brain counting the gentle knots of vertebrae over and over again.

She shifted on me slightly, her nipples pebbling against my chest. She snuffled against my neck, blowing a lock of brown hair under my chin. "Love you," she murmured subconsciously. She always replied to that in her sleep.

I smiled and gave her bottom a gentle squeeze as I breathed in her scent. This room smelled of her. _I_ smelled of her. And it burned. But that felt normal now—right, even.

I'd always been a little prone to masochism.

"I want to tell you, you know," I said a moment later, using a tone of voice her human ears couldn't process. "I want you to know who I am." I swallowed hard. "_What_ I am."

I sighed and continued to speak lowly. "But you'll run when the truth comes out—as you well should." I held her tighter, as tightly as I dared. "I want to keep you for as long as I can. It's selfish, I know, but if I could keep you this way—never tell you my secret—I would. You'll run if you find out," I said again. "I won't stop you, I promise. I only want a little longer."

* * *

_Monday, November 24, 2008_

Bella got in from her shift at Hal's around eight that evening. She plopped down onto the sofa beside me. She smelled like steak and fries. "Can we talk?"

I put away the crossword I'd been doing to pass the time. "Of course."

She fidgeted. One leg bounced up and down, while she picked at the hem of her shirt. "I want to quit at Books & News. I want more time with Charlie."

I smiled. "Good. Have you told your boss?"

"Well, no. I figured, well, I needed to talk to you first. I can't really…" She blushed. "I need help." Oh, she _hated_ saying that; her face was so sour with it that it almost made me laugh.

"You have my help, whatever you or Charlie need—financially or otherwise. I've told you that. Quit the job."

"Not until you tell me you'll let me pay you back."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to keep tabs on it. You're staying here now, anyway." I smiled slightly. "As far as I'm concerned, what's mine is yours."

"I'll keep tabs, then." She arched a brow. "I've already marked down the hundred I owe you."

"What hundred?"

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" she asked, laughing. "Twenty-dollar bills don't just show up in my wallet, especially since I don't use cash. It's like you've been reverse pick-pocketing me."

I sighed. This would have been so much simpler only sixty years ago. She'd have married me, and we'd be sharing finances. Of course, I was rabidly drinking human blood sixty years ago, and she wasn't born yet, and no matter what I was still a vampire…so it was a moot point, I supposed. Still, this all seemed needlessly complicated.

Why couldn't she do things the way I wanted her to?

"If keeping a tally of what you use would make you feel better, then go ahead," I said. I'd only make sure she didn't pay me back. Pulling my wallet out, I handed her the card I'd organized for her weeks earlier.

She stared at it. "You just had that at the ready? That's kind of sexist."

"_Sexist_?"

"I…_think_ so."

"Well." I shrugged. "Just take it."

"We should make a contract, I think," Bella said.

I laughed. "A contract? I'm not signing anything, Bella."

Eyes narrowed, she looked at me closely, but my expression gave nothing away. "Okay," she said finally, reluctantly taking the card from me, while scrunching her face up in dismay.

Then she hugged me, using all her human strength to hold onto my neck. "Thank you," she whispered. "You were…right." She hated saying that, too. "I need more time with Charlie. I wish I'd listened to you sooner. I _am_ going to pay you back, though."

I smiled, thinking with great sadness that I'd probably be gone before she ever had the chance.

She rested her head on my shoulder as I held her against my side. I knew without asking that we were both thinking of how Charlie had looked the day before—rarely awake, barely coherent when he was. It was for the better. His waking thoughts told me of the considerable pain he was in, even with certain medications. Hospice was caring for him full-time now, in a hospital bed that had been setup in the small living room, the recliner and couch having been maneuvered upstairs for the time being.

"He doesn't have long, does he?" Bella asked, already knowing the answer.

Truly, I was surprised he had made it this long. Sometimes I wondered what he was waiting for; he was hanging by a thread, determined each Sunday we saw him. I didn't reply, opting instead to kiss her forehead. "It'll be all right, Bella. Everything will work out."

* * *

_Wednesday, November 26, 2008_

It wasn't often that I felt vampirism had advantages, but watching the moon rise in the sky while I relaxed on a thin, moss-covered rock ledge was one of them. It didn't matter that nothing but air stretched out for miles beneath my dangling feet. Even should I fall and hurt myself, I wouldn't die—_couldn't_. Though I could feel the wind was cold and harsh, it didn't bother me, didn't penetrate my skin with its chilly, searching fingers. I was an anomalous creature that defied the laws of nature, but in this moment it didn't matter as much.

Tonight, the moon was merely a sliver, a faint, sweeping stroke of grey-white on a star-speckled canvas awash with the bleeding watercolors of the Milky Way. Even without the moon's brightness, the stars lit the forest that rested below. Out in the Olympic National Park's wilderness, the earth yet seemed young; free from everything, save the most basic signs of humanity. It was comforting—seductive even. I could disappear here. Perhaps one day I would, when Bella was gone, forever asleep in the earth, as she one day would be.

My dead heart ached. Could I actually exist in a world without her?

Carlisle leapt down onto the rock ledge and sat beside me; the earthy smell of elk blood emanated from him, along with the sweet apple scent that belonged solely to Esme, who was still hunting. He stared at me for a long while, thinking.

I didn't mind Carlisle's thoughts. They were quietly-toned, calm and organized, even for our kind. I didn't even mind the one-way conversations with him.

_And how are you and Bella? _he thought.

I laughed. "Am I that obvious?"

His lips twitched with a smile. _New love is always an obvious wonder to behold. It's easy to spot the joy…and the pain that's sometimes there, too._

"I want to change her," I whispered. Even two weeks ago, I wouldn't have confided in a Cullen, but I'd grown close to them, felt tied to them through Bella and Charlie.

Carlisle was silent for a time, his thoughts turning to patients' files from the hospital. When he replied, he spoke. "Alice says you haven't told Bella the truth yet."

"Of course not. How can I?"

Vampires only had one rule: to keep our secret. Revealing ourselves through careless hunting practices, or freely telling humans our secret, could lead to a swift demise for all humans and vampires involved. I didn't know to what extent this rule was enforced, but I knew of the enforcers; the first vampire I'd met had warned me about them, and I'd learned more since then. There were powerful vampires in Italy who called themselves the Volturi; they were, for all intents and purposes, our royalty. By combining physical prowess with powerful mental abilities, they were unstoppable. Crossing them was unwise.

"The Volturi…" I started.

"Wouldn't be a problem if you changed her," he said. "They hardly see ill in turning humans, provided it's done carefully and within reason. Keeping our secret is the only matter they concern themselves with."

I frowned and looked at Carlisle from the corner of my eye. "Changing her would break your treaty with the Quileutes."

"It would, yes."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't _mind_?" I asked incredulously.

Carlisle sighed. "You would be taking a human life—a healthy life. I can't condone that, regardless of the treaty we share with the Quileutes. And yet, I know Bella is your mate; to leave her, to let her die, would be an agony I wouldn't wish upon you. I understand your conundrum, and I wouldn't be surprised if you gave into the desire."

Smiling faintly, he said, "I do wonder what would have happened if things hadn't gone the way they did for Esme and me. I changed her when she was dying, years after I'd met her as a human. But had I not encountered her on the brink of death, had she been alive and well and prosperous, would I have eventually tracked her down and selfishly turned her, anyway?" He shook his head. "It hardly bears thinking about, but I do wonder nonetheless."

"So you think it's inevitable that I'll tell Bella the truth and change her," I said, feeling both comforted and bleak.

"I believe we have the gift of free will. With it, very little is absolutely inevitable, and even of that which is, we have some control," Carlisle said.

"Tell that to Alice," I joked, and he laughed with me.

"Even Alice will tell you that our most basic choices are what construct our world, no matter if the world itself is complex and full of surprises."

I nodded, though I still didn't always know what to think of Alice's visions and understanding, much less her control over them. "I won't change Bella," I said—firmly, as though to command myself into submission. "I don't want to sentence her to tedious endlessness, to unparalleled thirst."

"_But_…" Carlisle said.

"But I _do_ sometimes want it," I confessed. It was such a silly desire. The moment she found out the truth—_if_ she found out—she wouldn't want anything to do with me.

He nodded. "Well, should you choose that path—_and secure her consent_-all I ask is that you give us ample warning. I won't and can't help you in making this kind of a decision, but should it come to that, my family will help you and Bella with the transition." _The Quileutes don't have to know_.

"Thank you, Carlisle," I said.

We sat in companionable silence, and I stared at the moon again, my head filled with waking dreams of a timeless woman who flickered in and out of focus, existing in one moment, only to disappear in the next.

* * *

_Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 27, 2008_

Lifeless or not, Esme Cullen's heart was a soft one, I'd learned. As such, she went to great lengths to organize Thanksgiving dinner around Charlie's hospital bed. It was a bittersweet celebration, with the scents of turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie mixed in with the acridness of attempted sterility.

Charlie refused the strongest of his pain medications, wanting instead to enjoy the day with friends and family. It made him more lucid, certainly, but I knew the pain it caused. The hospice workers had left at Carlisle's suggestion, but they'd return later. Alice knew he would struggle through the night.

He beckoned to me once when the others were in the kitchen. Fixing me with a sharp, brown-eyed stare, he warned, "Carlisle'll be keeping an eye on you when I'm gone. Don't mess it up with her."

"I'd never mean to—"

"That's good. Don't, then," Charlie said. "Understood?" His hair-dusted brows rose high on his forehead.

Swallowing, I nodded and said the only thing I could. "Yes, sir." He patted my shoulder from where I sat beside his hospital bed. _All right kid._

Knowing I had his approval meant more than I ever thought it would.

* * *

_Friday, November 28, 2008_

I heard Bella's car long before she parked outside. I knew the steady rumble of its engine almost as well as I knew the beating of her heart. I waited for those sounds during the day, longing to hear them, as I knew they meant she was returning to me. It took everything in me to not rush out after her, to not be waiting at the door as her key slid into place. Did she have any idea how exciting she made my dull existence?

"Samantha was okay with me quitting," Bella said as she entered the house, shrugging off her father's old jacket. "Apparently she wanted to cut back on the number of people she was employing, anyway, so that's good. She won't have to let anyone go now."

"I'm glad you'll be working less," I said, pulling her into an embrace. I had to touch her. "You need more rest." More time with Charlie. More time with me.

Ignoring my words, she kissed me slowly, deeply, allowing me entrance into her soft mouth. When we pulled away, she touched beneath my eyes. "Your eyes are black," she said.

"Sorry." I looked away.

"You don't have to be sorry." She held my face in her hands, creating a frame of fire. "Are you ever going to tell me?"

"You said you wouldn't ask for more," I reminded her.

"I know," she sighed, "but I want to know you so much. I want to know _you_. No matter what you are. That's gotta count for something, doesn't it?" Her fingers snaked into my hair, to coil, to grip securely. "_Tell me_. You won't lose me. I swear it." She pled with her eyes.

Shaking my head, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to hers. "Not yet," I breathed against her lips. "Don't make me tell you yet." I ran a hand beneath her shirt. "Come upstairs, Bella."

At least we could share secrets this way.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ I'm participating in **Fandoms Fight the Floods**, which is seeking to help Queensland's flood victims. Donate $5.00 to the **Queensland Government Appeal** (it's legit) and send your receipt to the managers at **fandomsfightthefloods(dot)blogspot(dot)com**. On the first of March, you'll receive a packet of stories from fic authors. I've personally signed up to do a new one-shot and a SotPM outtake._

_Regarding the SotPM outtake, please see the poll in my profile to vote for what I'll write. The outtake and one-shot won't show up on FFn until June, so I hope you'll consider supporting a good cause and getting a packet filled with fics._


	19. La Push and Pull

**_Author's notes (February 16, 2011):_**_ Sorry this is a couple of days late. Oh, and sorry for becoming increasingly FAIL at review replies. I read them all, but I often lose the chance to reply in a timely fashion, and I figure what you really want me to do is write, anyway, so..._

_Thanks to lovely ladies who also happen to be betas/pre-readers: **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**._

_SotPM's been nominated for some Vampie awards. I don't usually mention nominations, but since I unabashedly fap over the Vampies, if you think this deserves a vote, I'd appreciate it. (And to those who nominated me, thank you!) It's up for Best Overall, Best AU and Best Romance. A link to the award site is in my profile._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm19-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm19-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 19: LA PUSH AND PULL**

* * *

_"Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic."_

_Anaïs Nin_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
_Death was chasing me again. I could feel it behind me, closing in with its cold breath and snapping, snarling teeth._

_Faster—I had to run faster._

_No matter how hard I pushed myself, it always felt like I was only one step ahead of the feral being behind me. Stopping to rest wasn't an option._

_A cliff edge was on the horizon. I knew the ocean lay below, tossing and turning like an upset stomach. I wouldn't survive a fall into its icy depths._

_I kept running._

_The cliff was closer than I thought, and as I neared it, my steps instinctively slowed as panic mounted. Cold breath tickled the back of my neck._

_Then I heard him. Edward's voice was carried on the wind. "Jump," he said._

_And I did, because I trusted Edward with my life._

_I was flying. I was free._

* * *

"Hey, Dad!" I called as I entered the house to the sounds of rattling pots and pans.

"Oh! Isabella, is that you?" a woman with a Mexican accent answered from the kitchen. It was Mrs. Guzman, Charlie's primary caretaker. She was a kind woman, and I liked her, but even after three weeks, it was a little strange to visit Charlie and find someone else in the house with him.

Mrs. Guzman continued to speak to me from the other room. "Charlie was just about to have some lunch that Mrs. Cullen brought earlier. She's such a kind woman, bless her. I can heat some up for you if you'd like."

The heavy scent of fish wafted through the living room, and I turned up my nose. _Yuck. _At least Charlie was still eating what he liked.

"Um, no, thanks," I replied loudly enough for her to hear me as I sat down beside my father's hospital bed. He was asleep, but restive, his fingers twitching beside his overly-slender thighs. I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, unnerved—as always—to find that it was like I was holding his bones. My father was still here, I knew, but there was little physical proof of it left.

Mrs. Guzman came into the living room a moment later; she always wore cheery medical scrubs, as if this could somehow alleviate some of the unending depression of watching loved ones die. Today her top was baby blue and featured cute, cartoonish lambs that were dancing together on daisy-covered, grassy knolls. Her round, smiling face was damp from standing over the stove—and from the heat in the house. Charlie liked it warm nowadays. She set down a tray on a table at my father's bedside and laid out three pills on a napkin.

"He doesn't have to take these right away if he doesn't want to," she explained to me, "but they're here if he thinks he needs them." She smiled sweetly and surprisingly without any pity. I liked that about her. "I'll let you two have some time together. If he needs anything, let me know."

"Thanks, Mrs. Guzman." She nodded and bustled off to the laundry room, humming some church hymn along the way. Tone deaf as she was, it wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was still somehow comforting.

I ran a hand along the side of Charlie's gaunt face, careful not to tug on the tubing connected to his oxygen tank, which he'd recently come to require on a regular basis. His skin was rubbery, and purple and blue veins showed beneath the paper-thin paleness. "Dad?" I said softly. "You have something to eat here. Are you hungry?"

He turned a little, his breath hitching awkwardly as he woke. I let my hand fall to the bed.

"Bells?" he whispered.

"Yeah, it's me. Thought I'd come see you today." I forced a big smile to my face. "I've missed you. Good news, though: things are slowing down at school now, so I should be able to see you more." I wanted more time than we'd have.

He pushed at the buttons of a remote to lift his bed into a more upright position. "I'd like that. How is school, anyway? Haven't heard you talk about it much. Gotten any grades back?"

I nodded and busied myself with putting the tray over his lap, hoping my face wouldn't give away my lie. "Yeah, I'm doing really well this semester," I said. My voice was higher-pitched than it should be, a sure sign that I was spinning a tale, but I didn't think Charlie had ever caught on to that—or if he had, he'd never said as much.

Charlie nodded as he lifted the fork with a shaky hand and began to eat his salmon. "Angela's dad came to visit yesterday," he said a few minutes later. He took a deep, rattling breath. "Said Angela's engaged to the Cheney kid, and Lauren's moving out. Who's taking their places?" He gave me a pointed look.

I knew that protective dad look. Did he suspect Edward was moving in? Not that he'd be too far off the mark…

"Leah Clearwater is moving into Lauren's room," I answered, while uncomfortably squirming under his stare. "I think Angela's got someone organized to take her room over." I didn't tell him that I was now sort-of living with Edward. Sure, he liked Edward and wanted me to live life to the fullest, but I figured jumping into living with someone I'd dated for just a few months might be stretching it. Sometimes _I_ wondered what I was thinking. If I was thinking at all.

I shoved thoughts of Edward aside.

"Leah's moving to Port Angeles?" I nodded and told him it was for school. "She's doing good, then?" he asked. His eyes took on that sad, far-away look they always did when he thought of the Clearwaters—of Leah's father, Harry, his deceased best friend; and of Sue, Harry's widow, whom he'd dated for a short time earlier in the year.

"I think she's okay," I said. "I haven't really seen her. Lauren said she's looking forward to moving in and starting school. I think she's ready to get off the reservation." And away from her ex, Sam Uley, and her cousin, Emily, both of whom had betrayed her horribly when they'd gotten engaged.

"She'll be fine. She's a good girl." Charlie nodded his approval. "Did I ever tell you"—he took an awkward breath, and the oxygen tank hissed—"the story about Harry and me scaring the kids on Halloween?"

He had told me—a dozen times, at least—but I listened, anyway; it was a good day when he was awake and wanted to reminisce. The story was old, one from when I was little, but I'd been away in California with Renée. As a kid, I'd never spent Halloween with my dad.

Harry and Charlie had dressed up in heavy black trench coats and drooping fisherman's hats that they'd found at the local Goodwill. Hovering outside the Clearwaters' small house, they scratched on Leah and her little brother Seth's bedroom window in the dead of night.

"We almost couldn't keep it up when Seth jumped into bed with Leah," Charlie said between raspy laughter. "Harry thought he might wet the bed."

When Leah was brave enough to go see what the source of the ruckus was, both men popped up from the darkness, flashlights shining beneath their chins, illuminating them to ghoulish effect. They roared like monsters come up from the deep and smacked the sides of the house with flattened palms.

Charlie continued to laugh through a cough. "Never heard kids scream that loud since. Sue was so pissed at us. The kids stayed up the whole night."

I grinned, trying to imagine a younger version of my father doing something like that. It was hard to picture. I'd spent so little time with him as a kid, and when I had, it had always been somewhat awkward; serious and loving, rarely playful beyond fishing trips and tagging along to the police station, where I played Solitaire and "colored" in Paint, even though the screens only supported the grayscale. Because of my parents' divorce, there were a lot of special moments I'd never had with my father, really.

Now we were too old for those moments, and there wasn't enough time to try to fix that. There never had been.

Staring out the front window, Charlie had stopped eating. I knew without asking that he was thinking about his friends on the reservation, especially Billy Black. Sure, my father had always lived in Forks, but the people he'd been closest to, those he'd called _family_, had all been down at La Push. That had all changed because of Jacob and me, and then later because the Cullens had helped Charlie.

I knew my father didn't regret sticking up for me or the Cullens, but having to pick and choose between family and friends is never easy. I'd been so busy thinking about how awkward everything felt for me. Had I ever really thought about how much it had hurt Charlie?

I'd make things right if I needed to.

"Do you miss Billy?" I asked.

Charlie cleared his throat and looked down at his full plate. The asparagus was probably cold now. "No," he said, but I could tell he didn't mean it.

"It's okay if you do." I rested a hand on one of his. "I mean, he's been a real jerk sometimes"—_be nice, be nice, be niiice_, I chanted to myself—"but he _was_ one of your best friends. Do you… Do you want to see him?" I dreaded the thought of organizing _that_ reunion, but I'd do it if it was what my father wanted. I wanted to give Charlie everything I could…and still I knew it would never be enough. I'd always have regrets. Too many to count.

"Maybe," Charlie admitted, picking up his fork again. He glanced at me. "So long as it wouldn't bother you, kid. Or cause trouble for the Cullens."

"It won't." It was only a small lie. I hoped. "I'll make sure it doesn't."

He nodded, reluctant but clearly hopeful. "Then, yeah, I think I'd like to see him again."

"Okay," I agreed, holding back a sigh. "I'll make sure you get to." I squeezed his hand. "I promise."

* * *

That evening, I reclined on the sofa at Edward's house—or, I guessed, _our_ house, maybe—staring blankly at my laptop screen. Edward had gone to FedEx hard copies of some compositions, and for the first time in several days, I was able to spend some time on my research. I'd made a document to keep track of my findings, having named it _2009 Taxes_ to keep out anyone who might use the laptop—like Edward, for example.

Oh, yeah, I knew he'd been snooping, but I didn't think _he_ knew that _I_ knew.

The document I'd made had three columns: _Maybe_, _Unlikely_ and _Definitely Not_. I felt ridiculous every time I put down some mythical creature in any of them, especially the crazier ones, like orcs and dragons. Then again, at least I could rule some stuff out.

"I wouldn't even need to do this if you'd just fucking tell me the truth," I complained to the quiet room. Lucky snorted where he lay beside the couch. I glanced down at him. "Too bad dogs can't talk," I told him. "I bet _you_ know what he is, don't you?" Grunting, Lucky just rolled over on his back; his feet shifted in the air.

That dog was so lazy sometimes.

I'd mostly narrowed my search down to aliens, angels, demons, shape-shifters and—to my complete, blushing embarrassment—faeries. Although, I had to admit, Edward didn't strike me as the faery type, even if the oldest European legends described the "fair folk" as being unnaturally beautiful, humanlike creatures. Alice as a faery? Maybe. Edward? Not so much. I just couldn't get past visions of Disney's Tinkerbell.

"This is hopeless," I groaned.

If there was one thing I'd learned since beginning this strange search for the nearly-unbelievable truth, it was that after thousands of years of oral and written tradition, there were a whole hell of _lot_ of mythological creatures out there and almost as many unhelpful crackpots—more than a few self-proclaimed shamans—who believed in them. How could I possibly narrow my search down without more information?

_Bad circulation._  
_Stiff muscles._  
_Changing eye color/discoloration._  
_Fast reflexes._  
_Food allergies._  
_Doesn't sleep?_

I wasn't sure about the last one, but even if it was true, it wasn't enough for me to learn anything new or narrow my _Maybe_ list down.

Not for the first time, I considered confronting the Cullens. If Edward wouldn't give me any information, maybe they would. Having thought about it a lot, I was pretty sure that whatever he was, they were, too. Still, I was hesitant to go to them.

The difference between Edward and the Cullens—if they were actually the same…species—was that they were better at pretending to be human. I'd never even suspect them of being anything other than human, if not for Edward, and I worried that they might be good enough at being whatever they were that they could throw me off the right track. (If I'd even gotten anywhere near that right track.) It probably wouldn't even be hard for them to do that. Some days I was still convinced that I was dreaming or going crazy.

Anyway, I couldn't confront them yet, not until Charlie… Well, I just didn't want him caught in the middle of anything I might stir up, like a dramatic war between humans and the otherworld. Probably the last thing you'd want to find out in your final days was that your sleepy, peaceful town was potentially crawling with the unexplained. Charlie didn't need to deal with what I was going through. My life had turned into an _X-Files_ episode; the worst thing about it was that you apparently _couldn't_ solve these sorts of riddles in an hour.

The door from the garage to the kitchen opened and closed, and Lucky went scrambling off, nails click-clacking on the floor. Sighing, I exited out of my document and closed the laptop. I'd been staring at the screen for at least a half hour. Once again, I'd come away with nothing. I was at a dead end until I had something new to work with.

Lucky at his heels, Edward strolled into the living room. He gave me his best lopsided grin until he saw my laptop on the coffee table. "I'm back," he said unnecessarily, his eyes glued to the laptop.

He _so_ didn't want me to know his secret, no matter how much I promised him it'd be okay to tell me.

And despite everything, I loved him. I was stupid with it.

I held out a hand for him to come closer. Touching him was easy, like breathing; it took my mind off of everything else—off of Charlie and secrets and even what the future might hold.

His shoulders slumped with relief and he came to me, resting a knee on the sofa between my legs, leaning in close to kiss me. His lips were cold and hard, and a little part of me hated how happy I was to feel him beneath my fingertips, to feel him touch me. I shouldn't love someone who lied, who was keeping secrets…but I did.

"I love you," he said in earnest, grabbing my face and kissing me harder.

* * *

Lauren, Leah, Angela and her friend Tori were waiting for me outside of Port Places, the property management company for the house I no longer lived in but still held onto out of paranoia over Edward's secrecy. I tried not to think about that too much.

Considering I'd never met Tori before, I probably should have paid more attention to her, but Leah was who I noticed as I pulled up beside Angela's Camry. Leah had always been a pretty, long-limbed girl—one of the tallest girls I'd ever met—but now she towered even above Angela's six-foot frame. Her face was hard, sharply angled, and her black hair was cut short. She wore an expression that was caught somewhere between dismay and confident cockiness. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it; she just drew your attention. It was like a giant Amazon woman had been dropped down into Port Angeles.

"Hey, guys," I said as I slipped out of my car. "Sorry I'm late. The guy after me was slow getting in for his shift at the restaurant, and I had to stay back a bit."

"Whatever." Leah shrugged a shoulder. "Let's get this show on the road already."

Lauren cut her eyes over at her. "It's not Bella's fault that some asshole was late."

"Didn't say it was, but I've got to get back to the rez for a tribal meeting."

Tori, a plump, brown-haired girl who was my height, stepped forward and offered me her hand. "Hi, Bella, don't worry about being late." She smiled, showing off a dimple in her right cheek. "It's nice to finally meet you. Angela's told me all about you. We keep you and your dad in our prayers."

_Lot of good those have done. _Knowing she meant well, I forced myself to return her smile as I shook her hand. "Hi, Tori."

Leah sighed loudly. "Are we all acquainted now? Awesome. Let's go sign those papers." She stalked off toward the entrance to Port Places.

Angela leaned over to Lauren and whispered, "What's her problem this time?"

"_This_ time?" I asked.

Angela nodded. "She was like this when she visited the house, too. Kind of…"

"Super bitchy," Lauren offered. "I guess that's what I get for finding someone on Craigslist." She frowned at me. "I know you used to know her and all, but you're _sure_ you're going to be okay with her?" she asked. Then she rolled her eyes. "Of course, you're mostly with lover boy these days, so I guess it all works out."

Tori added, "I'm sure Leah's nice underneath it all."

Lauren didn't look so sure. I wasn't either. Leah had been bitter after what happened with Sam. I'd only ever known a bitter Leah, honestly, but bitterness that's carried around for years makes for a whole different person.

In the end, the paper signing went smoothly; it turned out that transferring the lease of a rundown rental house wasn't that difficult. The property manager, Kelly, seemed to want to get us out of there as quickly as possible, too. Leah's foreboding stares and imposing figure made seemed to make her nervous.

"Okay, you both sign here," Kelly said, moving a sheet of paper toward Angela and Lauren. "Your term on the lease will end on the thirty-first of December." She slid a second paper to Leah and Tori. "You'll be able to move in on the third, after we perform an inspection. Sign here." She tapped a pink-painted fingernail on a signature line.

And that was that. It amazed me how quickly big things in life could change from something as easily-forged as a signature.

Late for an afternoon class, Lauren hurried out the door as soon as we were done, waving a hand behind her in farewell. Angela turned to me with a smile once we were outside. "Here," she said, and pressed a creamy-yellow envelope into my hand.

I stared at it. "Is this a wedding invitation?" I asked with a laugh. "Already?"

She nodded, grinning. "We're working as fast as possible."

"Probably for the better," I said, thinking of her morning sickness…that she seemed to have at night whenever I'd been around her lately.

"You'll come?" she pressed. "You and Edward?"

I smiled. "We wouldn't miss it for anything." I gave Angela a hug and offered the usual pleasantries to Tori before they left.

"So you don't stay at the house much anymore?"

I jumped in surprise and looked over at Leah, who stood just behind me. I hadn't realized she was still there. "Um, not so much. Why?"

She shrugged. "It's just for the better. I'm not sure your boyfriend and me would get along too well. In fact, I can tell you we wouldn't."

I frowned at her. "Do you even know Edward? He's nice to everyone."

"I'll bet," she muttered.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Anyway, everything should be cool if you can keep him out of my way."

I spluttered disbelievingly. "My name's on that lease, too! Edward can come around whenever he feels like it. And what's your problem, anyway? You don't even know him." I felt my face grow hot. My heart beat faster. If she thought she was going to be a bastard about someone I cared about, all because _she_ had some chip on her shoulder…

"Look, he's good friends with the Cullens—"

"Yeah? What about it? So am I, Leah."

She blew air past her lips and rolled her eyes. "It's different. You don't get it. And you _wouldn't_ be friends with them if you knew better."

It was all I could do to keep from stamping my foot. "You're right. I don't _get it_. I don't get why you guys hate the Cullens. The only thing I can figure is that you're fucking racist."

"_Racist_?" she shouted. A young couple coming out of Port Places glanced at us uncomfortably and rushed by.

"If that's not it, then what is it?" But even as the words fell from my lips, I felt my eyes widen. It was like finding the jacket in Edward's closet all over again.

I stepped closer, my mouth hanging open, my heart racing. "You _know_, don't you? That's it, isn't it?" I said. "You guys know _what_ they are."

Leah narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?" She made to brush past me. "God, Bella, you've lost it. I don't have time for this. I've gotta get back to the rez."

I grabbed her arm and was surprised when I was met with solid muscle. She was feverishly hot to the touch. I blinked down at where I held her, saying, "Wait. You know. You _have_ to tell me."

Shaking her head, she pried my fingers off her arm and pulled away. "I don't know what you're talking about." She looked around uncomfortably. "I gotta go." She strode, long-legged, to the rusty motorbike she'd come to Port Angeles on.

"Leah! Wait!" I called after her.

But she ignored me as she mounted the bike. She kickstarted it and pulled out of the parking lot at top speed—no helmet on her head.

"Shit!" I shouted, attracting the offended stare of an old woman.

Did the Quileutes _know_? If they did, would they tell me?

* * *

Rain pelted the glass wall of Edward's bedroom. The world outside was cold, verdant and wet—appropriately dismal weather for the first day of December. I'd have to get up soon to face the day and go to work, but for now I was here, safe in Edward's bed, safe with Edward—no matter how inhuman he might be, no matter what the Quileutes thought of him (if they even did know the truth).

Here, we were outside of reality. We made our own little world. Nothing could touch me. Except him. And I didn't mind that at all.

A cold finger drew figure eights along my naked back. I felt the arcing curve of the first loop, the way he doubled it back on itself directly against my spine, and then swept down low for the second loop, which ran so feather-like against the small of my back that it almost tickled. Closing my eyes, I listened as he quietly hummed the lullaby that always seemed to be evolving, depending on his mood.

"I think I could stay like this forever," I sighed. Even with all his secrets. A lifetime of gnawing curiosity maybe wouldn't be so bad if I got this peace with it. Maybe.

Edward stopped humming and lay his palm flat against the middle of my back. "So stay," he said as he shifted a little closer and ran his knee along the back of my thigh. It was an inviting touch.

Coolness radiated from him, and I welcomed the oddly comfortable numbness that stole over my back and legs because of it. It was like floating on cool lake water, the sensation of being one with the velvety molecules that lay behind me.

I smiled a little, almost dreamily. "Forever's a long time, I think."

"It probably would be, yes."

"You'd get tired of me," I teased.

Edward pulled me closer, until I was finally flush against him. "Never. That'd be impossible."

I laughed. "Never's a long time, too."

Cupping my shoulder with his hand, he turned me until I was lying on my back. He leaned over me, then, until our chests touched. Golden eyes searched mine and held me with an almost frightening intensity. _When did things become so serious?_

"You have no idea… I could never_ not_ want you, Bella," he said, his mouth close to mine. His breath was sweet like honey—and distantly I added that to his list of oddities. The scent of him almost seemed to play tricks on my mind, dull me into calmness or arouse me until I was moving my hips against him. Most of the time, it managed to do a bit of both.

"You want me now," I whispered, pushing against his hard length, letting my legs fall open wider. It was an endless cycle: knowing he wanted me made me want him.

The serious moment snapped, and went away as quickly as it had appeared. Edward quirked a brow and blindly flung out an arm for the box of condoms that had a permanent home on the nightstand. He didn't pull faces about them as much these days. "Like I said, I always want you."

As he pushed inside me, I watched his eyes darken to pitch black. He never looked more alien than when his eyes were black. It was scary how it seemed to call to me, how it seemed to reach down and caress something that I knew was in me, something dark—something that had always made me his. I loved it, whether it was right to or not.

He ran hands over my breasts and thighs and stomach. I grabbed his hips, pressed my fingers flat against unmovable flesh, felt the way his whole body trembled like a livewire. He was holding back—he always did—and a little part of me loved that; that he could break me, but wouldn't, that I so thoroughly controlled him, even if indirectly. I was powerful. I'd never been so powerful. Or so powerless to emotion.

"More," I urged. Testing him. Testing us.

He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. I heard the sheets rip beneath his hands. Like a lot of things, that should have scared me, but it happened nearly every time we were together. I always came away fine. He wordlessly replaced sheets.

I pushed up to meet him. "More."

Shaking his head again, he breathed, "Can't."

"You _can._" My breath hitched as he groaned. "Trust me."

Surprisingly, he did—or maybe he was just too far gone to overanalyze. Grabbing the arcing, oaken headboard, he stretched out above me, all long sinew, pale and flawless marble flesh. His pace quickened until nothing was left but our incoherent sounds and the creaking of wood.

The room melted away. I felt him—hard inside, hard outside. We slid together easily, like we were made for this animal act. In a daze, I watched his throat, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed repeatedly.

I was close, but not there yet.

Edward knew. He stilled for a moment and took one hand from the headboard. Grabbing my right hand from his hip, he pressed it between my legs. "I-I can't touch you at the same time. Let me watch you. Show me." He groaned, "Oh, God, show me."

I blushed red, but he wasn't interested in my embarrassment as he went back to the headboard and began to move again, his black eyes intent on the hand between my legs. At first it was hard not to feel like I was putting on a show, but eventually nerves gave way to pleasure. As I moved my fingers, I brought my knees back and watched him disappear in my body, over and over again.

I bared my secrets to him, as I wished he'd bare his to me—and feared he never would. In the end, it was more the way he watched me that did me in, like he was hungry, like he'd never get enough of me.

"_Edward_," I breathed.

There was a resounding clap, and it took me a minute to realize it was the sound of his teeth snapping together. A rumbling sound started low in his chest. Goosebumps and fine hairs rose on my skin, but that didn't stop me from pressing my hands against his ribs to marvel at the strangeness that he was sharing, intentionally or not.

He wasn't looking directly at me, but I could see the tension in his jaw from him profile. "Let it out," I whispered.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then his lips turned back, making him look more animal than man, and a low, reverberating growl passed around the edges of his clenched teeth. The sound continued in his chest, even as his head fell back, as he pushed forward, as release stole over him. I felt the sound in his ribs, vibrating low and strong, almost like a cat's purr.

"Wow," I said dumbly.

Edward's black eyes snapped back to me. He didn't seem all there, and for a moment, I wondered if I should be afraid, but then his face softened, and I knew that whatever dark place he sometimes drifted off to—he'd come back. He always came back to me. That's why I was never afraid.

Taking a deep breath, he rested his hands on either side of my shoulders and leaned over me. He kissed my forehead, then my cheeks. "Are you all right?" he asked. He always asked.

I nodded. "Of course." I sighed against his neck. "So you _did_ growl at Lucky that day," I said.

His eyes widened.

"Well, you're not human. I guess…it's to be expected?" Would he ever tell me the truth? Would I ever figure it out?

Edward kissed my shoulder. "You test me too much," he said.

"Someone needs to." Smiling, I ran my fingers through his soft hair. "Besides, you'd think I was boring if I didn't."

"It's _dangerous_," he whispered. "I don't like admitting that, but it is."

"You'd never hurt me."

"I couldn't live with myself if I did, Bella."

I kissed his ear. "You won't ever hurt me. Whatever you are, I know that much."

* * *

Edward was staring. Again.

"_What_?" I laughed, blushing and self-consciously running a hand through my hair.

He smiled apologetically. "You're not eating. Something's on your mind… Charlie?"

"Sort of." I rested my spoon in my bowl of soup. "I'm going to the rez tomorrow to try to get Billy to visit my dad, and—"

His eyes widened. "You're going _where_?"

"To La Push."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "No, you're not."

"Excuse me?"

"I'd simply rather you not go, Bella."

"Why?" _Other than they may know the truth…_ As far as I was concerned, that was all the more reason to suffer the trip.

Edward shrugged. "Can't you just _call_ Billy Black?"

I sighed. "I wish." That much was true. "I'm pretty sure this'll take a personal visit." Especially considering the last phone call with Billy had ended with several expletives and a wheelchair reference. To be fair, he _had_ called the Cullens evil. "I don't really want to go, but I have to. Charlie needs to see him." And I would do anything for Charlie.

Sitting straight and still, Edward searched my face. "As my…girlfriend…if I asked you not to go, _for me_, would you refrain?" His eyes were dark, not black, but not their usual amber, either.

"Are you really asking me to choose between you and my dad?"

"That's not it at all."

"That's what it sounds like."

"It's not."

"Well, what is it?" I asked. _Other than the Quileutes may know the truth_, I thought again. _That's has to be it._ I narrowed my eyes at him. I wouldn't be sharing that theory. I still wasn't sure what I should do with it myself.

"Perhaps I don't want you seeing Jacob Black," Edward said. "Perhaps I'm jealous."

"You wouldn't get jealous."

He scoffed, "Wouldn't I?"

"I wo— Wait." I stilled. "I never told you about Jacob."

"What? Of course you did," he replied. He didn't miss a beat.

"No," I said, glaring at him. "I _didn't_." How did he know? Who had told him? Lauren, Angela? I wasn't even sure why it bothered me, but it did.

Appetite lost, I rose from the table with my half-empty bowl of soup and went to the kitchen sink. Edward followed me.

"Don't go to La Push," he said in a low, firm voice, as if that could sway me.

I washed out my bowl and set it out to dry. "You don't get to tell me where I can and can't go, Edward, especially when it comes to something for my father." I glanced at him. "Unless you want to tell me the whole truth. Maybe we could cut a deal."

He scowled at me.

"That's what I thought."

"You can't keep pulling this with me," he said angrily, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Simply because I won't tell you _everything_—for _your_ safety, no less—doesn't mean you get to completely disregard my desires."

"I'm not trying to," I said as evenly as possible, "but you haven't given me a good reason not to go."

"Because you shouldn't!" he shouted. "It's not safe, and I can't go with you!"

I threw a dishcloth down on the counter. "What are you talking about? I've been to La Push more times than I can count—long before you ever came along. Nothing bad ever happened."

He ran a hand through his hair, lifting the strands until they stood up high on his head—almost comically so, like one of those troll dolls from the nineties. "If you care for me at all, you'll not go," he said.

"That's completely unfair, and you know it."

"It's true."

"It's dirty. You just want to have everything your way."

He laughed. "_I_ want to have everything _my_ way? Oh, that's rich, Bella." Frowning, he turned on his heel and stalked to the door to the backyard. "I'm going out for a while. I'll be back in a few hours."

At the sound of the back door opening, Lucky ran into the kitchen, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. Edward turned dark eyes to the dog, and Lucky came to an abrupt stop. His tail, which had been wagging, drooped between his legs.

"Aren't you going to take him?" I asked. "It'd be safer." It's what Edward always made me do when I went outside.

Edward laughed again. It was a dark, bitter sound. "I'm not the one who needs protection, Bella." As he stepped outside, he called back to me, "Don't go to La Push. I'll work out a way for Billy to see your father, but don't _you_ go." He slammed the door so hard that Lucky yelped in surprise.

* * *

True to his word, Edward returned a few hours later. We awkwardly apologized, but didn't really solve any of our problems. The most I could offer him was that I'd tell him if and when I decided to go to the rez.

I debated with myself all through the night. Edward didn't want me to go there at all, and—to some degree—I should respect that desire as an adult in a committed relationship. That seemed like the reasonably mature thing to do.

On the other hand, going to the reservation was about fulfilling one of my father's last wishes, to get to see a best friend he'd not been close to for nearly two years now. Could I simply ignore that, all because the Quileutes and Cullens—and now, apparently, Edward, too—didn't get along? That was _their_ business, regardless of what was fueling all the hate. Did Charlie and I really have to be stuck in the middle?

Things changed when I saw Charlie the next day. He didn't even wake up to see me. Today was a bad day—morphine drip and all. He'd only used morphine once or twice before, and I was afraid of what it might mean now, this far into the cancer, this close to the…end.

It was a last minute decision. Windshield wipers scraping away the typical, fine mist of Forks, I took a turn toward La Push after I left my father's. I didn't bother calling Edward. This was my business, and I wasn't about to let him stop me. I'd make things right. My father would get to see his friend one last time. Everyone else could get over the politics of it, as far as I was concerned.

My cell phone buzzed as I made my way onto the reservation. _Alice_. I didn't bother answering. While the Cullens weren't so openly antagonistic about the Quileutes, I had no doubt that Alice would try to talk me out of what I was doing. She'd be nice about everything, probably more so than Edward, but still passionately against the idea of my visiting.

It'd been years since I'd visited La push, but it was just as I remembered it—all winding roads buried in forest. Burrowed out bald spots held houses nearer to the beach, but most of the reservation remained untouched outside of a half dozen or so main strips of civilization. A few tall, young boys wandered in clustered groups, shirtless and in cut-off shorts, despite it being forty degrees outside; they looked bored as they kicked a soccer ball between them.

As I drove farther away from La Push's more obvious civilization, I wondered if this was maybe how America would look if Columbus had never set foot here. La Push was a little like another world—less busy, more homologous. In the past, I'd loved it; it had been my second, more enchanting home. Now I saw things differently. Everything seemed so isolated, almost claustrophobic. A whole world lay outside this place, and I wanted to see it one day, if I got the chance.

Where the Blacks lived, the gravel road was prone to washing out, so that for half of the year, you were forced to park far back on the "driveway" and walk to the house in uneven pebbles and thick, grey-brown mud. It would have been better to have the road paved, at least near the house, especially what with Billy being in a wheelchair, but they didn't have much money. I understood that at least, how need sometimes came second to finances, even if it shouldn't.

As I neared their little red house on foot, my boots squelching, I saw him.

_Oh, God_.

Jacob Black.

Even leaning over the open hood of an old white truck, he was taller than I remembered, less of a gangly boy, more of a grown man. It made him a little easier to look at. In this form, he wasn't the first boy I'd given everything to, the boy who'd broken my heart; neither was I that girl. I was just a stranger crossing another stranger's path.

That's what I tried to tell myself, anyway.

I didn't bother with hellos or any sort of pleasantry. I jumped right in, like yanking a Band-aid off a wound. I called out, "Your dad inside, Jacob?"

Jacob sprang up so fast that his head smacked the propped up hood he was working under. "Shit," he cursed under his breath. He turned to me, rubbing the crown of his black-haired head. His eyes widened as he took me in, as if he couldn't believe I was in La Push.

That made two of us.

"_Bella_?" he asked. He still had those soft brown eyes. Quick-to-laughter eyes that made me miss the friendship we'd once had.

"Yep. It's me," I said.

He cleaned his big hands on a dirty rag. God, he really was tall. Standing straight, he had to be almost seven feet—and muscles everywhere. He looked uncomfortable and fidgety, a somewhat awkwardly amusing sight in a big man.

"Relax, Jacob. I'm here for your dad," I said.

"Sure, sure. I heard you." He shrugged and looked over the large expanse of their lawn; he'd always made sure the grass was cut, and it didn't look like he'd changed that ritual. "Wanna walk for a minute?"

"Uh, I don't know that that's a good idea. I'm here for Billy. I want him to see Charlie."

"He's not here right now," Jacob said. I must have looked skeptical, because he said more firmly, "He's _not_. But he'll go see your dad. I'll tell him you came. Or you can wait for Sue to bring him back." He looked hopeful. "He's wanted to see Charlie, you know, but he didn't know how you guys'd take it."

"He's wanted to? Even after what I said?" I asked.

Jacob's lips twitched in amusement. "I heard about that. You were pretty creative, I'll give you that, but nah, Dad's not one to hold a grudge."

_Until it comes to the Cullens_, I thought, but didn't voice the opinion. I nodded. "Okay, well…thanks. I guess I should head back to Port Angeles…" Part of me wanted to ask him if _he_ knew anything about the Cullens or Edward, but it was too awkward. I could have asked Billy, _maybe_, but not Jacob.

Shifting his weight onto his other leg, Jacob looked at me like he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say or do. I understood the sentiment.

"Well, goodbye," I said, and turned on my heel.

"Bella?" I looked back. "I'm sorry, you know," he said. "I never meant for things to happen the way they did. Between you and me."

My face warmed with embarrassment. I hated remembering that day, even if it had been almost three years now. Jacob and I had gone on a movie date one night, when he'd started feeling sick afterward. For over two weeks, I tried to get in touch with him, but Billy always had some excuse at the ready for his son not being able to come to the phone, and under no uncertain terms was I allowed to come around him when he was "so contagious." I'd worried enough that I finally couldn't take it any longer and came to the rez, anyway… Only to find Jacob alive and well and hugging another girl, looking at her in a way he'd _never_ looked at me.

That day was the only one I could ever remember being violent. I wasn't proud of what I'd done, but I hadn't exactly been in control of myself. I slapped him so hard I'd broken a finger. Carlisle set it in a splint for me that same day.

"I _am_ sorry," Jacob pressed over my silence.

"It's okay," I managed to say, though my voice came out all strangled. "It all worked out." That was true, I thought. What I'd had with Jacob paled beside what I now had with Edward, even if secrets came between us. At least I knew the secrets had nothing to do with another girl. I didn't understand it, but Edward had eyes for no one else. I was more than okay with that.

"Maybe you're right." Jacob didn't seem so sure. "This…_guy_ you're with now… I don't really like—"

_He knows about Edward, too? God, word travels fast in small towns!_ I pointed a finger at him. "If you're about to go where I think you are… Just don't even start. I already heard shit from Leah."

That caught him off guard. "What did _she_ say? I knew she shouldn't live with you…"

I almost laughed. Everyone around me was saying _everything_ and _nothing_ nowadays. "She said enough about someone she knows nothing about. I'm not interested in hearing it from you, too. And it's not a problem for her to be in the house with me." Because I wasn't really in the house, but I didn't tell him that.

Jacob's shoulders relaxed. "We just worry about you, Bells. That's why we—"

"_Don't_ call me Bells," I snapped.

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean anything by it." Sighing, he dropped his hands back to his sides. At only nineteen, he was still awkward in his body; he slapped his palms against his thighs. It was obvious that he wasn't through talking, so I stayed.

He surprised me when he jogged forward and pulled me into a hug. It was brief, hardly an embrace at all, but I felt it even after he pulled away; his skin was feverish, just like Leah's had been. The heat lingered in the same way Edward's coolness did.

Jacob stepped back and looked at me with a sudden, disbelieving expression, his nose crinkled up. "He's all over you. I didn't know it'd gone that far…"

What was he _talking_ about?

I shoved him away. "Get off me, Jacob." I was breathing heavily and felt nervous in his overpowering presence.

His shoulders trembled as he stared at me in unguarded disgust.

Alarms seemed to go off somewhere in my head as I watched him shake with rage. _Get away, get away_. Why couldn't Billy have just been here?

I took a few steps back. "I'm…gonna go. Don't forget to talk to your dad for me."

"So you just choose them—_him_? That's it?"

"The Cullens and Edward have been my family," I said, still backing away.

"_We_ would have been your family!" he shouted angrily. "You never gave us the chance once Charlie got sick."

I could have stayed and argued, dug up the whole rotten past, but I just shook my head and continued to retreat. He was too angry, too foreign. The seething man in front of me was not the soft, sweet boy I'd known. I didn't want to know this man. "I'm going, Jake," I said in a shaky voice. And then I ran all the way back to my car.

* * *

The sun set on my way out of La Push. When I got back to Port Angeles, it was six o'clock and completely dark. No lights were on in the house, but Edward's car was in the garage. I shut the door behind me quietly. "Edward?" I called out into the dark kitchen. No answer. I called again, more loudly.

No answer.

"Dammit," I muttered as I stumbled around, trying to find the light switch. Was it on the left or right? I couldn't remember… I slid my hand over the wall to my right. I was probably just barely missing it.

"Do you have any idea how _worried_ I've been?"

I gasped in surprise. "_Edward_?" I couldn't see a damn thing, and now my heart was racing. "Jesus, why are you sitting in the dark?" His voice seemed to come from the breakfast table, but I couldn't see him.

"I've been waiting for you," he said. "I expected at _least_ a phone call. You promised me that much."

"I stayed with Charlie longer than I thought I would…"

"And you went to La Push. Without giving me any warning." He sounded cold, distant. I'd never heard him like this.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have called. I just…you would have talked me out of it." That argument sounded pretty weak, and I knew it. I'd gone back on my word. He had a right to feel angry about that, at least.

"I imagine I would have tried to, yes. But would you have listened? Probably not."

I ran my hand over the wall again, meeting only flat surface area. "Where's the light switch? I can't find it."

"You don't need it."

Suddenly, I felt him in front of me. Gasping in surprise again, I took a step back.

"You want my secrets," he said. "Here's one. I see fine in the dark." He leaned closer, so that I felt him just before my face. "You're beautiful in the dark."

"Oh," I breathed. My blood felt hot in my veins.

Though I could feel him near, feel his cold body, he was a mottled, amorphous lump of gray-green and black among the darkness of the kitchen. I heard him breathe in deeply.

"You smell wrong."

"What?" I whispered.

Then Edward's fingers threaded through my hair, snaked through the strands to grab at the base of my skull. He tilted my head to the side and back so far that my neck dully ached. I took in a faltering breath as he kissed down the length of my throat.

"Do you have any idea how much you frighten me?" he asked. A kiss. A cool-tongued lick. "How much you've _always_ frightened me?"

"I don't mean to…"

He pulled me closer. He was aroused… My body instantly responded to his desire.

"What would I do if I lost you?" he said, though he seemed not to be speaking to me. "What would I become? It's you who keeps me grounded. It always has been. Without you… If I lose you, I lose myself."

"Shh," I said, running a hand along his neck. "You're okay. We're okay." Were we? What the hell was happening? It didn't feel like Edward was with me entirely.

Fear spiked, but only for a second. I lost my train of thought as he slid a hand over my front and gripped my left breast, squeezed my flesh hard. "I feel your heart," he said. "I love listening to it."

My body hummed with dark tension—hairs raised, flesh prickling; animal instinct seemed to understand what took several more seconds for my brain to piece together. A little voice inside whispered, _You went too far this time._ Too far for what, though? What was happening? I could barely think beyond the scent of him—sweet and heavy. His want, my want.

"Are you okay?" I managed to ask through his caressing hands and open-mouthed kisses. I still felt his detachment, but also a lower layer of anxiety. My fingers were buried in his hair as he continued to kiss my neck and shoulders, but I felt them shifting every so often—trembling.

"I need to be in you," he half-answered in a low, dark voice, over my mouth. "Take off your clothes." I felt his smirk against my mouth. "Or I can, if you'd prefer."

I heard myself swallow. "You really want me?" But I knew he did. I'd already dropped a hand from his hair to reach for the hem of my shirt. His hand slid down from my breast and expertly unbuttoned my jeans. I more listened than saw Edward remove his clothing.

"That's better," he sighed. "Now you smell like you." He breathed in again. "And me."

I tried to process and analyze all the strange things he was saying, but then cold hands were grabbing my face. Hard lips pressed to mine. This was a different kiss from any we'd shared so far—demanding and desperate and rough enough to make my lips throb. I stopped thinking critically.

"I really can't see anything," I told him when he'd moved back to my neck. "I want to see you."

He moved away from me so suddenly that I stumbled forward and bumped into the counter. I gripped it for support as I heard the clunky _whish_ of the wooden kitchen blinds being pulled up. Moonlight flooded the breakfast nook with a bright grey-white square; it softly illuminated the whole kitchen.

Edward was behind me again.

_He moves so fast… _Not human. Not at all. Excitement, anticipation and maybe a little fear had my whole body on edge.

"You're really fast," I said, and my voice shook.

"I am," he said, and pressed a hand between my shoulder blades until I was forced to bend over the countertop. My elbows rested on hard granite. My breathing was loud and ragged as his knee pushed one of my legs to the side. I bit my lip until it hurt.

From this angle, with the blinds open and the room dark, I could see the shadowy depths of the woods that ran along the perimeter of Edward's—_our_—backyard. I watched them in a disconnected, aroused daze as Edward pushed inside me in one swift thrust. "_Yes_," I hissed, surprised by how much I enjoyed this somewhat twisted coupling in the dark.

Again, I couldn't think, because Edward was moving in a way he'd never moved with me. He wasn't gentle, and he didn't try to hide the low rumble in his chest. I felt it vibrating through his chest when he leaned over me, pressing me into the countertop as he thrust and pushed and grabbed. I lay against the counter, my breasts pressed flat to the cold, hard surface, my back pushed down by Edward's equally cold, hard skin.

"You can't go where I can't follow," he said against my ear. "I can't lose you." He was wild and desperate.

My hipbones banged into the edge of the counter painfully, making meaty thumping sounds that echoed rhythmically with the slap of Edward's skin against my own. His right hand braced my shoulder, while his left tightly clutched one breast. He used my whole body for leverage—for us, for our pleasure—or against me, I wasn't sure. I was too far gone to analyze the hows or whys behind this. I was at his mercy, silent save for breathless pants.

I lost myself to that strange, heady place before release—where the burning tension is blinding enough to suffuse all other thought, blinding enough to dull pain and heighten pleasure.

I cried out when I felt the first flickering spasm, my fingers clawing along the counter, grasping uselessly. My legs shook, as if half my body was caught in some epileptic attack. Edward's hands moved to my hips, gripping tightly enough that I knew it should hurt, but I was beyond pain. I was beyond everything.

He followed me silently, darkly; even the rumbling had stopped. One last slap of skin, a hiss of breath between clenched teeth, and then there was the cool, almost shocking sensation of him as he came inside me. We hadn't used protection. I hadn't even thought of it. Forehead pressed to the counter, I whimpered, feeling spent.

Slowly, the world went back to normal, though one of my ears continued to ring, so that my uneven breathing sounded tinny on the right side of my head. My legs stopped quivering, but Edward's hands hadn't moved from my hips, nor had he slid away from me. I didn't ask him to move.

Minutes passed. Pleasure subsided, and I began to think rationally again and notice, with some shock, _pain_. Deep in my shoulder, along my breast, down my waist and hips, on the backs of my thighs… There was even a dull ache between my legs. My body suddenly began to close up in discomfort, so that the tightness between my legs as I held him wasn't of ecstasy but of distress. "Edward… Let me up, please."

He moved away abruptly, so fast that it felt grossly alien, like something was torn from my body—a part of me, a part of him. Then I stood up stiffly and pushed away from the counter. I crossed my arms to cover my breasts.

I turned to Edward slowly. "What…what just happened?" I was shaking. The room, which had felt so warm just moments before, was now freezing.

"I…" he began, but he didn't finish. He was staring at me, his face slack with horror. It was one of the most unguarded expressions I'd ever seen on Edward's face, and it chilled my blood.

My whole body seemed to throb with the beating of my heart as I looked down at myself.

Even in the grey, barely there light, I saw what he saw.

Angry red marks. The promise of bruising, black and blue.

_I'm hurt_, a part of my brain told me in a clear, clinical manner. _He hurt me. He always thought he would. He has._

Somewhere, Edward was talking. "Please forgive me. Oh, God, please forgive me."

I hardly heard him as I stared at my bare hips, at the eight dark red dots that represented fingers. There were even darker marks directly on my hipbones, where they'd slammed into the countertop. I felt the pain now.

"Do you need to see Carlisle?"

I looked up at him. As his dark eyes moved over my body, he seemed afraid.

It was disturbing that I had to even consider his question, but thankfully all my pain felt like it was on the surface or near to it. "No… I think I'm okay."

But I wasn't. Not really.

Because now I was thinking clearly; _now_ I was analyzing. Our sex hadn't been about us. I knew that now. It'd been about something else—an animal anger, an animal panic—something from Edward's world that I didn't fully know or understand. Something he wouldn't tell me, I knew, because he never willingly told me _anything_.

Physically speaking, I wasn't bothered by what we had done. It wasn't like I hadn't been a willing participant, but I felt betrayed somehow. Edward had always seemed like my rock, my sheltering protection. I'd trusted myself with him. But I knew he hadn't been in control this time—not really. The dark place had taken him and swallowed me up in the process.

_He warned you he was dangerous, though, didn't he?_

Everything felt wrong. I thought I could live with lies, but that was stupid. _I_ was stupid.

I moved away from him until my bruised bottom pressed into the counter.

"This is crazy. I-I can't do this anymore," I heard myself whisper. "I have to leave."

"I didn't mean to hurt you… You have to know that." His voice cracked. It sounded strange, because it was the most human he'd ever sounded.

"I know you didn't mean to," I said softly. "It's not that."

I bent slowly against my muscles' protests and grabbed my clothes from the floor. I hurt all over. I didn't look at him as I shook my head. "You won't tell me the truth. And now…tonight. You were _angry_ at me about going to the rez, and you didn't even think…" I trailed off. "You just _used_ me to prove something… It wasn't about us." The steady, deep ache in my hips told me how much he _could_ have hurt me.

Just what was Edward Masen capable of?

"Bella… Don't. Don't do this." He grabbed at his hair. "I'll do anything."

I glanced at him. "Anything but give me the truth, you mean."

His face fell, all crumbled porcelain in the faded light. "It won't even matter," he said brokenly. "You'll leave if I tell you the truth, too."

I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath that unfortunately didn't steady me at all. "I can't do this anymore," I said again.

"Where will you go?" he asked, forlorn but resigned.

"To Charlie's," I replied, surprising even myself with the answer. "I just want to be with Dad for these last few days." Because I knew it was days now, not weeks.

"All right," Edward said softly. "Are we… Do you want me to leave? For good, I mean." I heard him swallow loudly, uncomfortably, but I'd turned around, to look at the moonlit backyard, so I wouldn't see his face anymore. I couldn't bear to look at him in that moment, for fear that I might go back on this decision. "I told you I'd leave if you asked me to."

"You can do whatever you want, Edward," I said tiredly. "Just…leave me alone for right now. Give me some space." With that, I walked out of the room.

It didn't take long to stuff things into a backpack—some clothes, my journal and laptop with all its fucking useless research. And the dragonfly fossil. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I touched the imprinted wings and tried not to cry over the tearing pain in my heart or the aches of my body.

I felt so many things that I thought I might burst. Love and anger. Grief. Despair. Uncertainty, insecurity over an unknown future. My stomach roiled.

For now, though, I shut myself down, tried to put on the hard, armored mask I'd worn when I first met Edward, when I'd been working to keep my dad alive. It didn't fit nearly as well as it once had. I'd changed. Life had changed.

Both of us dressed again, Edward stood with me beside my car. His eyes were black as he gazed at me from several feet away. He wouldn't come closer, and I didn't ask for him to.

"I know apologies are inadequate," he said, "so I won't offer any more. But, Bella… I love you. It's wrong of me to—you see that now—but it doesn't make it any less true."

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt tears running down my face. They were hot against my winter-chilled skin. "I love you, too," I said, "but right now…it's not enough." I opened my car door. "I need time to think, and maybe you do too." I forced myself to look him in the eye, to give him a hard stare. "I won't be with you without the truth, Edward. Not after tonight."

It took holding my breath and forcing a maniacal smile to my face, but I managed to hold in the worst of my sobbing until I got to the main highway. There, I pulled over in the dark night, and screamed against the arm of my father's jacket.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ (1) You knew Edward and Bella had to snap at some point, right? (2) Trust me? (3) Please? (4) *crickets chirp* (5) Damn…_


	20. Lessons on Acceptance

**_Author's Notes (March 15, 2011):_**_ Sorry this is late, guys. (Just to reiterate for new readers: **I tend to update every other week**, if possible.) RL got in the way this time, and this was a difficult chapter to write. As such, double thanks go out to **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u** and **GreatChemistry**, all of whom helped make this better._

_In other news, **thank you to everyone who voted for SotPM in the Vampies**! It won "Best Overall," which really means a lot to me, considering some of the competition I was up against. I'm especially grateful, considering how worthless I am when it comes to replying to reviews. Doesn't mean I don't read and love each one; just that I fail on a deeply personal level. _

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm20-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm20-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 20: LESSONS ON ACCEPTANCE**

* * *

_"Accept the things to which fate binds you,_  
_and love the people with whom fate brings you together,_  
_but do so with all your heart."_

_Marcus Aurelius_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
The last time I'd felt this beat up was after my run-in with the red-haired woman (if she'd ever even run in front of my truck at all). I'd discovered then the human body has a certain threshold for pain. If you pass this threshold, _everything_ hurts, even the places that aren't injured. It was morning now, and I'd passed the threshold after a sleepless night in my old bedroom.

There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door at Charlie's, one of those things in the house that seemed to say, "Renée was here." Standing in front of it now, I carefully peeled off my pajamas and took stock.

_Well, I'm not dead_, I thought. But it looked like it had been a fucking close call.

Bruises began at my shoulders and worked their way down my torso and hips to my thighs, so that I had ghastly, snaking clouds of black and blue over most of my body. The darkest spots were clearly shaped—a gripping hand here, a fingerprint there. Edward had left his mark.

I spent a few painful minutes of stiffly bending and tilting this way and that. Lucky for me—for once—nothing seemed to be broken. I just _looked_ like something out of a horror movie.

I placed a hand along the curve of my hip and stretched out the tips of my fingers to fit where Edward's had been; those dark prints were below the worst of the black bruises, the ones directly on my hipbones from where I'd slammed into the countertop with the force of our coupling. It had felt so good at the time—wild, but good. Now, as my body ached, it was hard to imagine last night had ever been pleasurable.

_How do I deal with this?_

Did I blame Edward for not handling me more carefully? Did I blame myself for not listening to his frequent words of warning, for trusting in his goodness and pushing him? Was this a human problem, based on normal anger and jealousy and fear because I'd stupidly gone back on a promise? Or was it an inhuman problem, rooted in things I couldn't begin to understand?

Charlie's ragged cough drifted up to the second floor, shocking me out of my spiraling thoughts. "I don't have time to worry about this," I told my battered reflection. I swallowed half of one of Charlie's pain pills, put on jeans and a turtleneck sweater to cover the bruises. I called Judy and told her I couldn't come in; she understood. Everyone understood that now was the waiting game. It was almost maddening.

All thoughts of Edward were put on hold as I went to care for the dying man downstairs.

* * *

My father was given morphine to ease his pain. The oxygen tank steadily hissed as he slept—peacefully, I hoped. It was kind of the only hope I had left. As disquieting as the oxygen tank could be, I listened to it at all times; so long as it clicked and hissed, it meant he was breathing, that his heart hadn't stopped yet.

I knew it was time to let him go, but I was holding on with all my might. The grip I had on him was invisible, but it _felt_ so real and tangible.

With Mrs. Guzman knitting a pink and purple children's sweater by my side, I found myself measuring hours by daytime soaps and court shows. During a commercial in the middle of _Judge Judy_, I asked Mrs. Guzman, "How do I get to say goodbye when he's so far gone? Others want to come say goodbye, too…" He'd wanted to see Billy… Had I failed? Had I not done everything soon enough?

Resting the sweater on her lap, Mrs. Guzman turned and patted my hand. "It will be fine, you'll see. Charlie asked me to give him less morphine tomorrow."

"He what?"

"He wants to be awake as much as he can be."

"No, no, this is better," I spluttered. The only thing worse than Charlie asleep beneath the effects of morphine was the idea that he might be awake and in terrible pain. "He won't feel anything this way."

Mrs. Guzman sighed. "No, but being awake is important to him. Many ask for this."

I held back tears. "I don't want him to hurt."

"It's what he wants," she said simply, with finality, then turned back to her knitting and the two arguing women on the television screen.

Unsure of how I was supposed to deal with this latest revelation, I bundled up in a coat and scarf and wandered out onto the front porch steps with my cell phone. I stared at it for a long time, thinking of my father's choices, avoiding what I knew I needed to do.

There was one other person I knew my father wanted to see, but just the thought of talking to her put my stomach in knots.

It was time to call Renée again—past time.

She didn't pick up on the first ring or, well, the first call, actually. She never did. Usually she had to find where she'd last left the cell phone; knowing her, it could be anywhere—between couch cushions or accidentally placed in the fridge. That was my mother for you.

The second time I called, she answered breathlessly.

"Hello? Bella, is that you?"

_You have caller ID_, I wanted to say, but refrained. "Hey, yeah, it's me, Mom."

"Oh, baby, I'm so glad you called," she said. "I've missed hearing your voice."

"You could've called," I countered.

"I've been meaning to. I just…" She trailed off, and I thought I heard her breath hitch.

Something was wrong.

"Mom? What's up?" I sat up straight, alert. "Are you and Phil okay?" It was ingrained in me to make sure, to take care of her. She'd never been good at doing that for herself.

"We're…we're okay," Renée replied in an unsteady tone. "The real question is 'How's Charlie?' Is he—"

"You never ask about Dad," I interrupted.

"How is he?" she repeated.

"He's…" _Not dead yet, no thanks to you, Mom._ "It won't be long now." I pursed my lips and willed myself to keep it together.

My mother made a strange, choked up sound. "I thought so. I've been feeling it, you know. I'm very in tune with my intuition these days. I think it's the yoga and Pilates."

I ignored her tangents. "You should be here," I said. I sounded robotic. How many times had I told her this on the phone, in emails?

Her answer was always the same.

"I know."

"Then get on a plane and come," I pleaded.

"I…"

Maybe she was going to give in this time. "I'll pick you up from the airport. I know you won't want to stay here… I don't know where you can stay, but I'll figure something out. I don't—"

"Bella?" she interrupted. "Baby, stop."

Oh. She'd already made her decision. I could hear it in her voice. She wasn't going to come in time; _this_ was why she'd needed to call but hadn't. She hadn't wanted to deliver the news that I was going to do this alone, because she was _choosing_ to let me.

A hollow twinge fluttered through my chest as I recalled all the other things I'd done alone as her daughter—put bills in the mailbox, did the laundry before I was even tall enough to turn the knob dials without using a stool to stand on, walked to the grocery store, balanced the checkbook, cooked our dinner.

Renée had never been one to follow through and be responsible, and her ex-husband's painful death wasn't going to change that. She was going to avoid it. She was going to let her daughter handle it.

"You're not coming, are you?" I whispered.

There was a pause, and I thought that maybe—just maybe—she'd change her mind. But in the end, I heard her crying as she said a phrase I'd heard many times from her: "I can't do it." She took in a shuddering breath. "I can't see him like that, not after all I've done."

"After all you've done?" I snapped. "It's not about you!" I shouted into the phone, but then I forced myself to calm down. Renée didn't respond well to anger. "He'd want you here."

"No, he wouldn't," she said. "Not after all I've done. After who I've been to him. I'm his ex-wife. I have been for over twenty years. It's complicated, honey."

"No, it's not," I argued. Charlie kept their old wedding photo near, even now. I caught him looking at it sometimes. He deserved better, but he'd only ever _really_ wanted my mother. Swans are constant like that. "He still loves you."

"If he does, that only makes it worse."

Who did it make it worse for, though?

"So that's it? You're just gonna let him die, without saying or doing anything?"

"He's got you, Bella. And friends. It's better this way. Really. Please don't be mad at me," Renée said.

"_Mad_ at you?" I laughed bitterly. "I'm way past that point, Mom. I'm sick of excuses. You should've been here _months_ ago. You should've been helping Dad. You _owe_ him that," I said, irrationally striking out at her guilt for mistakes long since made. "You should be here, helping me."

Renée sniffed. I heard the soft rustling of a tissue. "I know. I'm sorry, sweetie. You know how I am." She hiccupped on a breath. Her voice shook. "I'm sorry."

The world spun as I leaned over. I wedged my forehead between my knees. Dealing with her… It was no use.

"Okay," I murmured.

"I really am so sorry, Bella."

"I know. I know you are."

The crazy thing was that I knew she _was_ sorry—_sorry_ was what my mother was consistently good at—and we probably both knew she'd have regrets about this like she did with so many other things. My mother had a tendency to act first, think and regret later. It was an endearing character trait to those who didn't need her to dependable.

"You'll be here for the…" My mouth became dry, and I swallowed hard. "For the funeral?" I asked.

"I'll be there. Just tell me when to come."

"Okay." Sighing, I scuffed my shoe along the lower porch step. "I guess that's everything," I said awkwardly. "I should get going."

"Oh, okay, baby. I… You know I'll miss him, too, right?" She began crying again.

"I know."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom," I said softly before ending the call.

I sat still for a long time, until night began to fall, until my toes were cold and numb in my worn sneakers. In my angrier moments, I cursed the world for taking the wrong parent, but most of the time I was just sad. There was nothing good about this ending to life, not for anyone involved.

* * *

On the second night at Charlie's, I had a nightmare.

_The clearing was windy so that strands of my hair defied gravity on gusts. I watched my father fade into the distance, get pulled away and apart by the breeze. His body and soul flew away like windborne dandelion seeds. I didn't cry out or try to stop it. There was no point._

_"Bye, Daddy," I whispered._

_I was alone._

_"I'm here," a soft, low voice said._

_The lips that pressed against the curve of my ear were cold, and I smiled. I'd know this kiss, that skin, anywhere. I felt him behind me—a solid, reassuring fortress, unmoved by the wind._

_"You're not alone, Bella. Not lost." He kissed my neck._

_I leaned back on him and felt at ease. "I love you."_

_"Always," he said against my skin._

_"Always," I agreed._

_The wind picked up even more around us, so that a tornado of fine dirt twirled in the distance. The sentinel trees along the clearing's perimeter bent in submission. I would have blown away, too, if not for Edward anchoring me where I stood._

_His kisses to my neck became rougher as he tilted my head to one side. It felt like stones were being pressed into my flesh. I flinched away as much as his hold would allow. "Not so hard."_

_But he didn't stop, and the ache increased and increased until I screamed._

When I woke—thankfully without any real screaming—my hands were fisted beneath my neck, pressing into one of the many bruises that littered my skin.

* * *

"You don't have to do this," I told Charlie later that morning after a coughing fit. There were consequences to being awake, like the blood and phlegm on the tissue I held. With my other hand, I wiped his face and neck with a warm, damp cloth. "I don't want you to hurt, Dad."

Mrs. Guzman had him swallow a spoonful of cough syrup. It was one of the few things he was willing to take now.

He cleared his throat, then shook his head and drew in an uneven breath of oxygen. Lifting a frail hand, he patted my cheek and brushed away a tear with his thumb. "No crying," he said hoarsely. It was a dismissal, a signal that I'd lost this battle—lost the whole goddamn war. He'd go into the darkness with a broken body, but a clear mind.

"Okay." I nodded and gently passed the cloth over his cracked lips.

There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Guzman hurried off to answer it.

When I turned toward the foyer, I saw the Cullens. The wet cloth slipped from my hands to the floor.

Carlisle, Esme and Alice stood in all their inhuman glory at the edge of our handkerchief-sized living room that was made even smaller by Charlie's hospital bed. As it was, they already seemed larger than life—pristine gods that had drifted down from the clouds to visit earth—but here especially they seemed to swallow up the space with their presence.

How had I never suspected anything? Sure, they'd always seemed beautiful, but I'd never thought it was anything but normal… Good genes, healthy, high-income living. It seemed so obvious now that it wasn't anything normal, that it never had been. Seeing the Cullens, who I'd known for years, with new eyes was much harder than it had been with Edward, who had never seemed normal in the first place.

Alice caught my eyes from across the room, and something silent passed between us. No answers—of course not—but acknowledgment of the elephant in the room. They knew that I knew something wasn't right, and they were going to be courteous enough to not pretend like that wasn't the case.

"It's okay, Bella," Alice said, replying to my discomfort, which was apparently pretty obvious. She smiled—soft, maybe faery-like. I didn't know. I wanted to ask her questions, but I was too afraid, and now wasn't the time or place.

I'd frozen in the chair beside Charlie's bed. I wanted to tell them to go away, to stop making me think about the other, less stable world that they might represent. Most of all: to stop making me think about Edward.

"Alice," Charlie rasped, reaching out a hand.

His face was lit with a warm smile as Alice rushed to the other side of the bed and grabbed his outstretched hand. He loved Alice almost as much as he loved me, and just like that, I didn't have the heart to tell the Cullens to leave—no matter what they might be, no matter how much they'd lied by omission over the years. If they made Charlie happy, I wouldn't selfishly interfere.

Carlisle spoke in quiet tones to Mrs. Guzman as Esme came near me. Slowly, like she was giving me a chance to pull away, she brought a cool hand to the side of my face and brushed hair away from my tear-dampened cheek.

"Come into the kitchen?" she asked before walking off, knowing I would follow.

In the kitchen, she pulled me into a hug that, while maybe gentle for someone so marble-hard, made my bruised body ache. "Oh, my sweet girl," Esme said, brushing my hair with her fingers. "She's not coming, is she?" She managed to sound both sad and disapproving.

"How can you tell?" I asked. My tone was caustic, my aching muscles tense.

She replied softly, "It's written all over your face."

I hated my face. It gave away everything sometimes, and right now—with all that was going on—my defenses were down.

I didn't want to cry again, especially not in front of a Cullen. I didn't want to depend on these…these… Whoever, whatever the Cullens were. But what you want to do, and what you _actually_ do, are often two different things. I did cry as I shook my head. I did wrap my arms around Esme as she rocked me in her embrace. It was exactly what I'd needed.

"Alice and them are so lucky to have you as a mom," I blubbered against her shoulder. That much was true, regardless of everything else. Esme held me just a little tighter, and I ignored the physical pain.

* * *

The Cullens and Mrs. Guzman sat with Charlie and me through the day. We managed to get in one card game at Charlie's insistence, but he was distant throughout, and too tired to play anything else. When I put away the deck, I knew that he'd touched the cards for the last time. That deck had only cost a dollar. It now seemed priceless.

Later, when Mrs. Guzman's shift came to an end, Carlisle offered to stay overnight to watch over Charlie. Esme and Alice would stay, too. We planned to take turns at his bedside. It felt right in some way. It felt like I was surrounded by family. So long as I didn't think about their secret. When I thought about that, everything started to unravel. So I locked that away, deep in some corner of my brain.

For now.

The clock in the dining room chimed twelve times; midnight. I sat in an uncomfortable fold-out chair, but even it couldn't hold me back from sleeping forever. Heavy-lidded, I stared out the front window into the darkness, distantly listening to Charlie's oxygen tank and the nightly news report on another disappearance in Portland.

Indistinct forms moved outside—tree boughs swaying to the breeze, what was probably the flight of a shadow-winged bird. For a strange, dream-like moment, I thought I saw Edward pass by, all quick, dark grace.

"Rest," Alice said as she put an arm around me from where she sat in her own uncomfortable chair. She kissed my hair.

My head fell slowly to her shoulder. Her skin was hard like Edward's—comforting in that strange way that probably shouldn't be comforting, but was. My eyes fluttered closed. I dreamed of Edward.

* * *

The next day, Charlie wouldn't eat. He wouldn't drink, save for small sips of water, sometimes lemonade. Even without morphine, he was sleeping almost non-stop. His skin seemed to grow colder and colder by the hour. I knew what this was.

_Active death._

It was still and quiet in the house. Carlisle had called Mrs. Guzman and told her not to come, that he'd be here instead. He didn't seem tired at all, even after sleeping on the couch with Esme. I decided they probably didn't sleep at all—at least not like humans do. The thought was surprisingly easy to accept, all things considered.

"Is it going to happen today?" I'd asked him when he'd hung up with Mrs. Guzman.

He sighed, and his face morphed into the expression I knew he must plaster on every time he had to deliver horrible news—sad, sympathetic, torn. He didn't even have to speak the words when he put that mask on, but he did. "Yes. I'm sorry, Bella."

I didn't cry that time. I only nodded as he took my hand and patted it gently. Today was the day. I couldn't decide if it felt unexpected or like it'd been a long time coming.

The Cullens and I didn't talk much, not to Charlie or to each other. Not even the TV was on; it felt like it'd be disrespectful to have commercials blaring at a time like this. _Peace_. I wanted my father to go in peace. There was nothing any of us could say or do, anyway.

At midday, there was a knock on the door. Billy and Jacob were on the other side.

I wanted to be catty, to comment that it'd taken them long enough to get here—_What? Did you drive the wheelchair here?_—but I held back. Mostly, I was just relieved that Charlie would see his friend one last time. I could hold my inner teenager at bay for the time being.

Jacob did the oddest thing. He seemed to _sniff _the air. If it had been any other day, I might have laughed at him, but on this day, I could only tiredly question it.

"_They're_ here," Jacob announced to Billy.

Part of me realized his actions told me a lot about the Cullens and even about the Quileutes, but I didn't have it in me to care.

He shifted places on the front porch, so that Billy and his wheelchair were behind him as he stared down at me with dark brown eyes. The lines of his face were hard. "We're not going in with _them_ here."

I stood straighter, even though I knew I'd still be no match against his overwhelming presence. "If you're talking about the _Cullens_, they're staying," I said. "Whether you like it or not."

"Can't you see what they're doing?" Jacob growled. "They're here for a reason. Don't doubt it. They're not good-good people, Bells."

I ground my teeth over the old nickname. "They're here to help Charlie and me."

He snorted. "Like hell they are."

I was going to reply, but it was then that a black car slid into view to the side of Jacob's hulking form. It wasn't just any car, either. It was Edward's. _Oh, shit._ His windows were tinted darkly, but it was as if I could _feel_ his stare on me, boring into me and the scene unfolding on my front porch.

I put my attention back on Jacob. "Come inside. Everything'll be fine."

Jacob didn't move. "Get them to leave."

"For crying out loud. You know what, Jake? You can go get fu—"

Billy interrupted, "Take me inside, Jacob."

Jacob's narrowed eyes didn't stray from me. "Dad…"

"None of that matters," Billy said, waving a hand. "I want to see my friend. I'm willing to take the risk."

Edward sauntered up the driveway then in black jeans and a black shirt. It made his skin ghostly and disturbing, rather than palely attractive.

Jacob glanced over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps. His dark eyes widened dramatically before narrowing down to slits; his shoulders shook. I missed the happy-go-lucky boy I'd once known.

Stopping at the bottom of the porch steps, Edward stared at Jacob coolly, one of his brows quirked up.

The atmosphere was tense. No one bothered with introductions. I got the strange impression that they were unnecessary for some reason unknown to me.

I figured Jacob would be less likely to get into it with Carlisle and the others. "Uh, okay, get inside, Jacob," I told him. "Really. I'll handle this." I glanced at Edward again, whose eyes were now on me. I didn't know _how_ I would handle him, but I would.

With a little more prodding from Billy and assurances from me that I'd be fine, Jacob finally grumbled and helped his father into the house. I stepped out on the porch and closed the front door behind me.

"Make it quick," I said to Edward in as strong of a voice as I could muster. "I don't want to be away from Charlie for too long."

Edward's cool composure melted; he ran a hand through his hair. "I want to say goodbye to your father." He looked at me uncertainly. "And I can't stay away. Tell me to go away, and I will, but I _want_ to stay."

We stared at each other, saying what our mouths couldn't. It hurt to look at him, at this perfectly formed man—creature—who loved me, but wouldn't give himself to me.

There was no way I could send him away. Still, I felt the bruises beneath today's turtleneck sweater; some were getting better, but most weren't yet. They would help remind me that I could only have Edward's friendship until I knew the whole truth. At least, I _hoped_ the bruises would serve as a reminder.

It'd be so easy to give in, but I'd done that enough already.

"All right," I said. I took a deep breath, as if I was about to dive into an Olympic-sized pool. Stepping forward, I reached out to him; my hand trembled between us as I remembered his unbridled power. He wouldn't hurt me, though, I knew. Not again.

Was this what lion tamers felt?

But I hadn't tamed him. Not quite. I didn't know if it was my place to, even.

Once again, I wondered what _could_ have happened the other night.

Edward hesitated at first, but then met me in the middle; his fingers curled around mine. In spite of everything that had happened—and maybe because I was a huge idiot when it came to this man, this creature—I was soothed by his touch.

"You shouldn't let me near you," he said softly as he stepped up onto the porch, his eyes darting toward the house. "Not after what I did." He gently—very gently—slid his hand upward to push back my sleeve. There weren't really any bruises there, but he inspected my skin nonetheless. "Are you in a great deal of pain? Be honest."

I kept my eyes on where our skin was touching. "No, I'm fine," I half-lied. _Half-lie_, because I was still taking tiny doses of Charlie's pain medication.

Our hands fell back to our sides, and we stood in an uncomfortable, silent limbo. It was _awkward._ Really, really awkward.

"I know you weren't yourself," I finally managed to say.

"Or maybe I was more myself than you know, Bella. But, no, I wasn't the man I wanted to be," he agreed, "but that's no excuse. It doesn't absolve me."

"What's done is done," I sighed. What I didn't say—what frightened me—was how little all of it mattered. I loved him to a point that it burned, and I knew that wouldn't change.

But would we be together? _Could_ we be together?

He nodded at my sweater. "Even if no one else knows, I know what you're hiding, and it's because of what I did to you." He shook his head. "I was a monster. I—"

"Are we really about to have the zombie argument again?" I blurted out.

Edward breathed a hesitant laugh. "You're right. Now's not the time."

"Thank you." I put my hand on the doorknob at my back. "You _aren't_ a zombie, right?" I asked before turning it. "You're not craving my brains or anything?" It felt good to make light of the secret between us for a change, to distract myself from a thousand realities. The distance between us allowed for it.

"Your brain _is_ fascinating," he said, flashing a grin, "but no, I don't crave it for dinner."

"Great. So no biting me and turning me into the living dead," I joked.

His grin faltered until it became a small, close-lipped smile. I wondered what I'd said wrong. "No," he said. "No biting."

* * *

The light humor between us disappeared when we entered the house. I could hear Billy in the living room as he spoke. He had an unmistakable storyteller's voice, one that lilted up and down and held your attention with its warmth. He did most of the talking, but Charlie spoke in stilted whispers and rasps sometimes. Mostly, he just stared at us, his eyes following one person or another, memorizing us.

I didn't like to think about why he felt the need to memorize us.

Jacob frowned when Edward sat with me at Charlie's bedside and took my left hand, but he said nothing, and eventually gave me a small smile as he nodded his chin at our fathers. I smiled back as best I could. It was good to see them together again, even in this sad situation. Whatever made the Quileutes and Cullens hate each other had kept our fathers apart in recent years, but Jacob and I had done our fair share of separating them, too—and for way too long.

We'd have regrets over that—over our botched past and bad timing.

The hours moved slowly. We shared stories with each other as Charlie drifted in and out of deeper and deeper naps. I kept holding his hand.

Would I feel him slip away? What would that feel like?

Carlisle told us about the first time he'd met my father.

Charlie had pulled over a woman who had run a red light. It hadn't been the first time he'd pulled her over, so he'd begun scribbling out a ticket when the woman yelped in alarm.

"Mrs. Grisham was nine months pregnant—due any day. She was past due, actually, and had absolutely no business driving herself anywhere alone. Charlie's ticket seemed to tip her over the edge," Carlisle said, his eyes squinted in mirth.

Carlisle hadn't been in charge of Mrs. Grisham's care, but he had been the one to calm down my father, who had been beyond flustered after the whole fiasco. He grinned down at Charlie, who was watching him quietly. "You know, she was a lot more relaxed than you were. I can only imagine how you were when Bella came along."

Charlie chuckled, and I felt gentle, fleeting pressure as he squeezed my hand.

Afternoon came, along with the light pitter-patter of rain. Everyone finally relaxed around one another. We were an odd mix of people—friendships and loves, old and new; even different species—but Charlie brought us together.

Billy shared an old Quileute story. "My grandfather Ephraim told me this story before he passed away," he began, running a comforting, tan-skinned hand down my father's forearm.

The tale, which of course took place long, long ago, told a Quileute man who saw his family get swept out to sea during a great storm. "He wept ceaselessly for a year and a day," Billy said, "and he drifted apart from his tribe, to live in the woods among his wolf brothers. It's said that you could hear him howl with them at night. He cried to the moon, which spoke to the waters; he begged for answers. 'Why them?' he asked. 'Why did you take them?'"

I'd heard this story once before, when I'd gone to a tribal bonfire night when Jacob and I were dating. Oral history was alive and well among older Quileutes; those my age had just gone to the gatherings for toasted marshmallows. I'd loved going, though. It'd been a little taboo for a "pale face" to be there, but Billy had allowed it, probably because I was his best friend's daughter and—at least at one point—Jacob had been head over heels for me.

Now, as Edward and I sat on the right side of Charlie's bed, surrounded by the Cullens and the Blacks, I listened to Billy's voice fill up the room as he told the story again. He had dark circles under his eyes, and lamplight let me see the shining streak of a fallen tear, but his voice never once faltered.

"One night, a she-wolf came to the man," he continued. "Her ears were pinned back against her head in a sign of goodwill. She sat by the man and his fire, and he shared his food with her. This was a time when animal still spoke to man. 'We are moving on,' she told the man. 'You must, too. Go seaward to find the answers you seek.' Then she slinked off into the night, barking to her wolf brothers."

I watched Charlie's eyes blink open and closed. I could feel him struggling against himself, against the coming darkness. As Billy spoke of the wolf man's journey to the sea, I leaned forward and rested my head against my father's shoulder. "I love you, Daddy," I told him. Edward still held my other hand; his grip tightened.

The wolf man was lost in the woods until he encountered a bear. He raised a spiked club in defense, but the bear had eaten, and so was feeling friendly toward the solemn tribesman. "Bear told the man to find a new family," Billy said, "to not bother with his journey, but the man could not be swayed; his heart was heavy with memories of the past, and he trusted his wolf friend.

"'You should see Crow,' Bear told the man. 'He can lead you to the water.'" Billy used a deep, gravelly voice for Bear, and Esme chuckled from where she sat in a chair just behind me.

"Crow _did_ know the way to the water. It was a long journey on foot—the man had gone far inland during his time in the wilderness—but Crow agreed to guide him, provided the man would give him one of the polished blue beads from his necklace.

"Crow was a mysterious creature who told the man he was better off alone, that he could see the world this way and answer to no one but the stars he slept beneath. The man thanked him for this advice, but parted from Crow—and one of his blue beads—when he was sure he could make his way to the ocean by himself."

In the end, the man had no need to go to the ocean. He was following a twisting river when he met a salmon. "Salmon are very wise," Billy explained. "They know the intricate nature of the life cycle and see the world with clear vision."

Jumping up, Salmon called to the man. They met at a quiet pool by the river, where Salmon popped his head up to the surface. "Salmon don't believe in wasting time, and so this one spoke frankly. 'There is sadness in you. Why?'" Billy gurgled Salmon's voice.

The man had never shared his whole past with anyone—not even his wolf brothers and sisters knew the whole story—but he told it to Salmon then, who listened sympathetically. The man's salty tears fell into the pool of freshwater as he described his lost wife and daughter.

"'You look for your wife and daughter, as they were, but they are not what they were, then; they have grown,' Salmon told him." Billy smiled at me. "'They're gone,' the man replied hopelessly.

"But Salmon was wise. 'They're not gone, only different. They are in the soil of the earth, the whispering breezes and the teardrop rains from the sky.'"

It was a comforting, guiltless and godless story, about how everything was connected, forever and ever.

Was it a true tale? I wondered. I'd always thought that there was some nugget of truth buried in legends. Maybe there weren't any talking animals, but maybe, just maybe there was _something_. Maybe somewhere, someplace in time, a man had remembered his wife's caress when the rain trailed down his skin; maybe he'd heard his little girl's laughter in birdsong.

Would Charlie be in the wind, in the ground I walked on?

But then I realized—_truly_ realized—that he'd always be with me. People had told me that before, but now, as I gripped my father's cold hand with my right one—Edward's cold hand with my left—I believed it with everything I was. Charlie would be in me, in my memory, and I would be quick to see him in the world around me, because we're always reminded of those we love.

In the last moments of my father's life, I found acceptance.

Death is a strange thing to witness. The moment leading up to it may be loud and troubled, a bloody-knuckled fight, but when it finally comes, it's quiet, the softest of exhalations; and yet everyone nearby can hear it.

In one second, my father was in the room. And in the next, he simply wasn't. His fingers slackened; his breathing—the sounds of the oxygen tank—eased, then stopped altogether. Billy's story drifted to an awkward close, and this time his voice faltered.

Charlie Swan slipped and slipped, like a feather drifting to the ground, until there was one fewer person in the room.

I sat up from his shoulder to stare at his peaceful, gaunt face. He had what looked like almost a half-smile tugging at his lips, but _he_ wasn't there. The man on the inside was gone.

This body was an imposter. Maybe it always had been.

"Bye, Daddy," I whispered hoarsely, and the tears came. Carlisle and Esme touched my shoulders. I turned and looked at Edward, as if searching for something. His eyes were golden butterscotch, tender and warm as they stared back at me.

He gave me a sad smile. "He loved you _so_ much, Bella," he said. "He was at peace with you here."

"I hope he was."

"He _was_," Edward insisted. "Trust me."

* * *

The evening turned strange. It felt like I was dreaming—not half-awake and sleepwalking—but _actually_ dreaming. Carlisle and Esme called the funeral home. I sent messages to Angela and Lauren, who'd kindly checked up on me with calls since I'd returned to Forks.

Jacob and Billy left.

"We should stay," Jacob had said to Billy, his eyes flitting around the room that was filled with those unlike him. Again, I saw his shoulders tremble.

Billy had shaken his head at his son, but said to me just the same, "If you need us, call." He'd given the Cullens and Edward a hard, chiefly stare that belied the fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair. I watched them leave and felt a piece of my past break away with their departure.

The body was removed. It had become that at some point—just a body. Genderless, spiritless. Just a suit of bone and muscle and skin, a mannequin lookalike. Not the man who'd pushed me on swings and taken me fishing, not the man I'd watched play baseball or proudly clap for me at graduation.

Now Edward, Alice and I sat on the front porch. Carlisle and Esme were inside—probably doing things I should, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what, if anything, I was meant to do. I'd apologize to them when I was more myself, when thinking didn't only bring up white noise in my brain.

Alice handed me a cup of hot cocoa she'd made. Edward pulled the blanket around us tighter. It never seemed to warm his skin in this wintry weather.

"Thanks," I said to them both. It was so damn inadequate.

"Do you want us to stay with you tonight?" Alice asked.

"That's okay. You guys should get back home. You've stayed long enough, and I've really appreciated it."

"I could stay, while Esme and Carlisle go home," she offered, glancing at Edward.

I shook my head. "No, I think I just want to be alone."

"Alone?" Edward asked.

I looked at him. He had no idea how much I wanted him with me, but I wouldn't be stupid, not even tonight. My father had taught me better than that. "I should really be alone," I said as firmly as I could.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Alice interrupted him. "Fine, Bella, but you know we'll be knocking first thing tomorrow."

I snorted into my warm mug. "Your parents aren't that cruel. Only _you_ would show up and beat my door down in the morning."

She grinned a little. "It works, though."

The Cullens left first. I basically had to shove them in their car. They didn't want to leave me alone, but all I could think of was how much I wanted—needed—to _be_ alone, to not think of anything for a little while but my father.

Edward and I stood beneath the glaring white glow of the porch floodlight. He cradled my face in his hands that were made even colder by the outside air and kissed my forehead. "I wish you'd let me stay," he said. "I'll sleep downstairs on the couch if it'd make you feel better."

"I know you would."

"But that's a no, right?"

I half-shrugged. "I just need…" God, what _did_ I need?

"Answers," he whispered.

My heart clenched. "And time, I guess." I managed to hold back the tears. I was already so tired of crying. I laughed a little and pulled away from him. "I don't really know _what_ I need right now. It doesn't feel real. Sometimes it does, but mostly it doesn't."

Had it really only been _hours_ since my father was alive and in the house behind me? I wanted to shout and scream and cry like the man in Billy's tale, and I wanted to do that alone.

Edward nodded. "It'll always be that way, you know," he said in that wise voice he sometimes had. "There was a great deal of truth to Billy Black's story."

We held hands for a while and shared kisses made salty by my tears—never on the lips now, but it was enough—and I wondered how it was possible to hurt so much. To hurt on the outside and inside, to miss the dead, to miss the living, to miss what had been and what might never be.

"You know that I'll come whenever you need me," Edward said as he held me to his body. It was a statement, not a question.

"I know," I whispered against his bicep, where I rested my face. I told him I loved him, and he replied in kind. And still, we both knew that that changed nothing about the other night.

Edward hated leaving, but I watched his car move into the distance just the same, and then I went into my father's house, into a still darkness that held more memories in its walls than my mind could ever hope to contain. I turned on the television to a sports channel that Charlie had once listened to every night when he was well. I turned on the clock radio in my room—to classic rock, which had been his favorite. I filled the house with noise, but it was false, a poor imitation of the man that had once lived here. B-Grade characterization.

I trudged to Charlie's old bedroom, which he'd not used in weeks, and pulled on one of his old shirts. I slipped beneath the sheets of his lumpy, squeaky bed. They were clean sheets and didn't smell like him, but I was happy knowing he had slept here for thousands of nights—since before I was born, even.

I curled up in a ball and held tight to the dragonfly fossil as I cried myself to sleep. The tears were different this time; they were almost cathartic. Everything was over, and it hurt—_so_ much—like my chest was being torn open, but there was also peace, because death meant he didn't hurt anymore. Wherever he was—if he was anywhere at all—he was free from pain. I had to believe that.

When I finally did sleep, I dreamed of Charlie hugging me goodbye before leaving on a fishing trip with Harry Clearwater. "Love you, Bells!" he called from the driver's seat of his pickup truck. His tires kicked up a spray of settled water as he drove away.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ Sorry for the long notes. This is what happens when I don't individually reply to reviews. Many of you are wondering where SotPM's headed. All I will say is that there is plenty of foreshadowing. Unless I stray from my loose outline—always a possibility—there are about twelve more chapters to SotPM. We're entering what I consider to be "part three."_

_The Quileute story isn't real. If it was, inevitably someone would have been brutally murdered by something. What myths I could find were just grisly. Instead, the legend I made up is a mix of things from the region; the wise salmon mainly comes from Celtic mythology._


	21. Aftermath and Atonement

_**Author's Notes (April 2, 2011):** Hope those of you who participated in the readalong enjoyed the journey! Thanks go out to lemonmartinis and AFMtoo for organizing that. It was great fun, ladies. :) Also, for this chapter, as with all others, thanks to duskwatcher2153, Aleeab4u and GreatChemistry for keeping me from posting typos and other awkwardness._

_**Chapter pic:** No pic, sorry! :(_

_**Chapter music:** bit(dot)ly/sotpm21-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 21: AFTERMATH AND ATONEMENT**

* * *

_One brash phrase could crush this fragile day_  
_As my thoughts swirl in some shrill, sad cannonade._  
_And one such spur that caused my throat to creak—_  
_The one dull dawn that I've since sensed to repeat._

_"Serpentine" by Chris Bathgate_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Bella hadn't wanted me to stay with her in the house, but she'd never said anything about the trees and bushes surrounding it. I was torn. I shouldn't spy on her—after all I'd done, I shouldn't even be in the same state—but I couldn't seem to leave her alone, either. As it was, I found myself once again lurking in shadows, perched up on branches and peeking in windows. It wasn't typical boyfriend behavior, but I figured I was already going to hell for past indiscretions. What was one more sin, when I'd already committed the worst of them?

Despite Bella's wishes, I slipped into Charlie's bedroom where she slept the night he died. I watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed words to people and places only she could see. The lines of her face were relaxed. There was pain in all of this, I knew, but also some relief. Death was often that way for humans, for all creatures who didn't have an earthly eternity before them.

Would I be alone for eternity?

Sleeping little, Bella rose at four and began boxing up Charlie's clothes. Not everyone started on clothing when a loved one died—not everyone could think so pragmatically—but Bella went right to the heart of the matter. She was meticulous, separating each item of clothing into piles sorted by quality; these then went into their respective boxes and bags, set on a course for charities or to a family she thought could use them, judging by the surnames she used for some labels. Flannel shirts—a favorite of Charlie's—she saved for herself. There were a lot of them; she'd look like she was bringing back the grunge era.

I was no stranger to the minds of the grief-stricken, and while I couldn't read Bella's mind, I for once understood her actions, her need to reclaim normalcy and balance that Charlie's death had robbed her of—that _I_ had robbed her of. I'd witnessed it in the minds of others, but even more so, I'd experienced this need myself, when I was human and had lost my parents, and when I'd given up human blood.

I wanted to be in there with her, not on the outside looking in—again.

_And whose fault is that?_ I thought. The red marks I'd seen on her body, which were no doubt bruises now, were permanently burned into my memory. In many ways, this distance between us was of my own doing.

I should leave. She wasn't safe with me.

But I stayed. I was always staying.

How does one turn away from the person made perfectly, specifically for him?

The phone—both the landline and Bella's cell—rang incessantly, but she didn't answer either. Instead, she cleaned out kitchen cabinets and put away more items in dusty boxes retrieved from the attic. The dust made her sneeze often as she packed a set of bowls and a mismatched assortment of lightly stained coffee mugs. She put Charlie's favorite, a chipped mug with Forks Police Department branding, to the side with a sad smile.

She continued this pattern of cleaning and purging until she was on her hands and knees, restlessly scrubbing an already-spotless kitchen floor. Eric Clapton's voice floated out of an old stereo system, singing about loss and a distant heaven.

True to their word, the Cullens were on their way by mid-morning. About a mile before they arrived, their thoughts reached me. Alice, as she often did, directed hers at me.

_Edward, can you hear me now? Let's try something. Decide to nod._

Through her strange, overwhelming kaleidoscope of visions, I briefly saw myself roll my eyes from where I was reclining in the forked arms of a cedar tree behind Charlie's house. It was a microsecond before I performed the action in reality.

_Oh, good, you can hear me!_

I sighed, but I felt myself smiling. It was difficult to stay annoyed with Alice.

_How's the tree?_

"It'll do," I said dryly.

Carlisle's Mercedes pulled up before Charlie's house. While Carlisle and Esme knocked on Bella's door, tuna casserole in hand, Alice slinked around the side of the house, to the tree I occupied along the backyard perimeter of the property.

Cat-like, she scurried up into the tree and sat back on her heels on a branch near mine. "You've looked better," she commented. From her perspective, I was bedraggled, my clothing crinkled and stained after half a night spent in wintry mist and tree sap. She frowned at the way my hair curled up and out and over in damp cowlicks.

I lifted my hands at the trees around us. "Lucky for me, plant life isn't judgmental company."

"It's not good company, either." She tilted her head to the side as she regarded me. "I hope you know you made this needlessly difficult."

"Which part?"

"Um, let me think…all of it?"

I sighed. "I've done the best I could."

"You should have trusted her more."

I watched a spider in another tree sweep downward as it let a thread of webbing fly. I envied creatures that had such simple understandings of life and purpose and wished my own path were as clear. Perhaps I'd return to Chicago…

Alice gasped. "You're still thinking of leaving! Edward, you _can't."_

My attention snapped back to her. "That's hardly any of your business."

"_Of course_ it's my business! You can't leave. I barely know you. You're going to be a brother to me."

I snorted. She had such a vivid imagination. As if I was going to get swept up in her coven. "We have eternity. I'm sure we'll meet up again. It's not as if you can't see where I'll choose to go. When I choose." _If_ I could choose, if I wasn't rendered immobile by emotion.

"No," Alice said, shaking her head fervently, "no, it has to be now. Everything's happening now. I've seen it. Your relationship with Bella is _why_ it's happening now."

Riddles. I didn't bother asking for answers. She wouldn't give them—at least not in terms I could grasp as one not caught up in the future.

"You've seen wrong then." I didn't care what Alice thought of her visions, whatever they might be; I'd seen fissures in them already with the small things. How much more fallible might she be when it came to important matters?

"What about Bella? You'll just leave her? She'd be heartbroken."

"I don't think we're exactly together right now, as it is," I said bitterly. "My leaving would be good for her. A clean break." A real man could give her things I couldn't—stability, a life, children if she wanted them, the _sun_. He wouldn't be a victim to instinct, to the detriment of her safety. I was Pinocchio, striving and lying to be something I wasn't, something I'd never again be.

"But… She's your mate. That's _stupid_. You can't just walk away from that. It means _everything_ in this life." She spoke like she knew.

I hated the M-word, the way it thrilled me with all its false promises, with ideas of a less lonely existence, the way it frightened me to statuesque stillness. I'd never dreaded or wanted anything as much as I wanted Bella for a mate. Blood paled in comparison—even hers. But how could I have her? How could I fantasize of taking her life, of her by my side throughout time?

"She doesn't get a say? At all?" Alice pressed.

"Not when she doesn't know the whole truth to make a sound decision."

"That's not _her_ fault." Alice reached up and grabbed a branch before letting her feet drop loosely, so she hung like a monkey. "I don't think mating works one way, even if Bella's human. For that reason alone, you should tell her everything, don't you think?"

I paused. We were in dangerous territory—territory I so desperately wanted to explore, while knowing I shouldn't. What would my world be like if Bella knew the truth, and more importantly, if she accepted me? "Last time you told me to give her what I could' of the truth," I hedged.

"It had to do with Charlie," she explained. Her eyes turned downward as she said his name. "Bella came really close to figuring us out a couple of week ago. I didn't see that going over well, because it would have upset her life with Charlie. You couldn't tell her before he…was gone."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know for sure," Alice sighed. "She's too confused to accurately figure us out on her own, I think, and you've not decided to tell her." She cut her eyes over at me sharply. "You just keep teetering between staying with the way things are and going, as if those are the only choices. I'm blind, pretty much."

"Well, why don't _you_ tell her?" I snapped.

She shook her head. "No can do. It has to be you who tells her." She laughed. "I don't see her believing the truth from us."

"_Really_?"

"Really," Alice said, nodding. She perched back on a limb. "She runs away if we tell her, but I _think_ she might believe you." She arched a brow. "It's different getting the truth from your mate."

I swallowed thickly and bent my leg up to rest my forehead against my knee. "That's reason enough for me to hesitate." I didn't voice my deepest fear—that Bella wouldn't accept me. That she might never forgive me for what I'd done. That she'd _hate_ me, be disgusted by everything I was, had been, would be. I didn't think I could survive with memories like those forever.

"I see how stubborn you are—her, too. You guys are exhausting, believe me." She reached out and poked my ribs.

I smiled briefly. "We can't help but be ourselves. _You're_ the little freak trying to control the future," I said, but I was mostly joking.

She grinned, scrunching up her nose. "If I really could control the future, the world would be a better place. And you'd wear nicer clothes." Her eyes moved across me. "And never black on black. It's so not you. Who do you think you are, Johnny Cash?"

We sat for a while longer, listening to Carlisle and Esme discuss funeral details with Bella, whose heart thudded erratically in her chest. Unbeknownst to Bella, Charlie had already made sure to pay for his own funeral—with Carlisle and Esme's help, but she didn't know that, nor did they share this detail.

Bella decided to allow the funeral to be open to the public, even though it was obvious she would prefer something quiet. I sighed, wishing she'd be a little more selfish in this case.

"I think you should just tell her," Alice said, pulling my attention from the voices inside the house. "She really does love you, you know."

"She does, yes," I said, and despite everything, my lips lifted. "But humans have breaking points. Bella has an absurdly high tolerance for my nonsense, but even she won't accept the truth about me."

She wouldn't accept lies anymore, either.

"What makes you so sure?" Alice huffed. "Why can't you just _decide_ to tell her, and then I'll know how everything works out? But let me guess—nooo, that'd be way too easy."

I ignored her tirade. "As if I can just force myself to decide. Anyhow, that's enough, Pythia. You better go see Bella. Carlisle and Esme said you'd be coming."

Alice frowned at me. "I brought you a change of clothes. I'll bring them to you before we leave."

"Thanks," I said. I touched her shoulder. "For everything."

Alice shrugged and hopped down to the ground. "Tell her the truth. Wouldn't it be nice for her to know?"

I smiled noncommittally.

That was the question, wasn't it?

* * *

The day continued, and through Bella I felt the strange eeriness of death's aftermath, a hollow feeling I'd not experienced firsthand since I'd lost my parents. Of course, my innocent victims had stayed with me, but my memories of them were wrapped up in guilt. That was different to this. This was a helpless, aimless feeling, like time had stilled on an echo of Charlie's last breath.

From where I watched Bella from a tree, I considered sending her a text message in the afternoon.

**Are you all right?**

I erased that. Of course she wasn't fucking all right.

**Do you need me to be there?**

I scrapped that, too. Probably the last thing she needed was all the complications I brought to her life. I sighed, feeling awkward, and put my phone away. The battery was nearly dead.

Bella made arrangements for charitable pickups for the following day. It seemed to make her actions more realistic to her, as if only after making phone calls to churches and the Salvation Army could she realize that Charlie was gone, and many of his material things were soon to go, too. She sat on the couch and cried until it was dark out.

It tore at me when she cried, but it was even worse now, when I was near but so far away, so incapable because the hands I wanted to hold her with had done her damage, done _us_ damage, as I'd feared they would. We sat alone with our grief.

* * *

Bella slept on the couch, her mouth yawning open, one leg hooked up along the back cushions. In other circumstances, the sight would amuse me, but there could be no amusement found in knowing she slept on the couch, simply because she had been too emotionally spent and exhausted to make it up the stairs. I felt exhausted on her behalf.

If only I could rest with her.

If only I were mortal.

I knelt beside the couch and dared to do what I'd avoided the night before. With trembling fingers, I lifted the edge of her shirt. I was immediately met with spattered black marks that were all too familiar in their shape—my fingerprints. I could only imagine how bruised she was, and imagine it I did.

_At least…_ The thought dropped off.

At least _what_? There were no positives to this. At least I hadn't…_broken_ her? _Killed_ her? What small, disgusting comforts.

"How could you ever forgive me for this?" I asked Bella's sleeping form. "How could you ever accept me?" I spoke in a low tone she couldn't hear, but she shifted in her sleep, as if sensing me. Sighing, I let go of her shirt hem and backed away a little.

She shouldn't forgive or accept me.

"Edward," she whispered.

I wondered what sort of dreams I was being featured in as I draped a plaid blanket over her, pulling the soft fabric up under her chin. "I'm here," I answered as I brushed hair away from her face.

She reached out in that slow way that sleeping creatures do. From where I stood beside the couch, her fingers met my thigh then slid away. "Don't go," she murmured.

I pulled in a shuddering breath. Those words always crippled me.

It was as if on some level she'd always known I was merely passing through. Or _trying_ to pass through, rather. That had been my intention. Now I didn't know how to leave. I especially didn't know how to when she asked me to stay, even if only subconsciously.

As I watched her dream, I imagined her—sleepless like me, running through the evergreen woods, her skin illuminated by the light of a low-hanging moon. She was the greatest temptation, in more ways than one. I bent and kissed her forehead. "I want you too much," I sighed, knowing full well that confession and contrition rarely lead to reform.

* * *

The day dawned with cold rain, and I returned to Port Angeles, in need of a recharged cell phone, a shower and a clearer head. I could at least have the first two, I figured, and Lucky would be glad to see me, even if I had installed a doggie door for him to not need me.

I'd return to Forks later. I _hoped_ to even be invited, though I knew I shouldn't want that and that I had no right to be.

I called Bella after my shower. "How are you?" I asked after we'd blundered through awkward salutations.

"I'm…okay, I think."

She wasn't—not quite—but I played along. "Yeah? That's good."

"Yeah." She sighed. "They took the hospital bed."

"Good." I paced the length of my living room, struggling to come up with words. I heard a knocking sound on Bella's end.

"Edward? I should go. People are here to pick up some of—some stuff. Thanks for checking on me, though."

It wasn't supposed to go like this. I was supposed to be charming. "Can I come over?" I asked in a rush. I'd go to Forks, regardless, but I wanted—needed—her invitation, her approval, because it felt as though she were slipping away.

She paused, and then said in a small voice, "Not today. I have to go. I-I love you. Talk to you later."

With that, she ended the call.

I held the phone to my ear for a long time.

Frustration consumed me. The emotion was directed toward so many—Bella, my maker, me—and it flared in my body like the fire of my change from man to vampire.

I heard a crunch and glanced down at my hand. The plastic casing of the cordless phone I held had cracked beneath my grasping fingers.

_That_ angered me more. I couldn't even hold a phone when upset. How had I _ever_ believed I could hold a human woman when angry? How would she ever accept someone who destroyed so much that he touched?

I swung my arm back and threw the phone like it was a baseball. Singing through the air, it flew to the other side of the living room at high speed, hitting the adjacent wall with such force that the plastic body shattered into three pieces. A crack a few inches in length appeared in the off-white wall, where one of the three pieces was now lodged deep. I stared at it, breathing hard, though I had no need to breathe at all.

In the other room, Lucky let out a bark at the sound and came sprinting into the living room. He cautiously stepped near the broken phone pieces and sniffed at them. Picking one piece up between his teeth, he traipsed toward me and nudged my hand.

Still breathing heavily, I looked down at him, caught between amusement and the last vestiges of my anger as I stared into brown eyes half-covered by hair. "_Now_ you learn to fetch?" I'd tried to teach him for years to no avail. I took the useless piece of plastic from him and scratched his head. Touching him was soothing, a reminder that I wasn't _only_ a raging monster, that I could be more. Sometimes.

My cell phone vibrated from where it was charging on a nearby table. Lucky lay down on the floor as I picked it up; he watched my every move. "Don't worry," I said to him, "I won't throw this one."

Throwing it hadn't done me any good, anyhow.

I'd wanted it to be Bella, calling to tell me that—_of course_—she wanted me to come stay with her in Forks, but it was only Alice.

"Give her time," she advised. "She's going through a lot. You are, too."

"I know that, but I hate what's happened. What I did." I swallowed hard. "Do you…know about that?" How I'd lost control. How I'd risked her life.

"I know a little," she replied. "Enough. You didn't mean to do it, and she _did_ come home smelling like a dog. The first time I smelled them, I went a little nuts, too."

My nose turned up at the memory, but I didn't want to be placated. "How do I fix this?" That was all that mattered.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," Alice said. "Let her grieve first—privately, in Forks, _by herself_; you've been all sorts of creepy-stalker lately. And while you're at it—or _not_ at it, I guess—decide how you're going to handle everything. How _you're going to tell her_. Maybe then I can tell you what the hell's in store for you."

* * *

Staying away from Forks was more easily said than done. I had the overwhelming urge to make it all better, to turn back time and only yell when she came in smelling like La Push and its inhabitants; instead, I'd confronted her, when I'd known I was losing control. I wanted to give her Charlie back. I wanted her to have time and happiness and love.

I was powerless, though, and I knew it. I couldn't go back in time, only endlessly forward. I couldn't restore life, only take it away.

From the very beginning, our relationship—if it could even be labeled as such in its early days—had been tenuous at best, wrapped up in bloodlust and subterfuge. The latter had remained, and it was killing us. _I_ could have killed her. Multiple times.

She was my mate, the one thing that could arguably be looked forward to in this existence, but mates, like all things, can be lost—to death, to foolishness. I would always love her, and I thought that somehow she might always love me, as well, but sometimes, especially for humans who live under the pressure of a finite lifespan, love isn't enough. Sometimes it can't overcome lies and horrible mistakes.

Perhaps my inability to leave yet wasn't a problem. Perhaps she'd send me away. The thought was both agonizing and comforting. If she sent me away, I wouldn't have to choose for her or myself; the choice would be made for me.

Bella needed time, Alice said, but I thought that perhaps Alice wasn't so sure this time—that we'd perhaps knotted the fabric of the future so thoroughly that even she was left clueless. But I decided that regardless of whether I left or Bella sent me away, I would give her something better than the painful memories and awkward rebuffs of the last few weeks. The awkward meetings and phone conversations would stop. I'd speak in the way I knew best, in a way not verbal at all.

I had a promise to fulfill, a life history to compose. Charlie's.

When I sat at the piano bench with Lucky curled beneath, I wasn't sure how I would begin. Nothing I'd written—and I'd been trying for weeks—was worthy of Charlie Swan. In truth, this was mostly uncharted territory for me, to memorialize a man whose life hadn't ended at the teeth of my hunger, nor was it a work of hope, which fueled the finer details put to Bella's lullaby.

I tried to understand Charlie Swan, the man who had loved and lost, and never stopped loving. The man whose thoughts lifted joyously when his daughter entered a room; how he was awed that she looked so much like he did, especially when she turned and revealed her left profile—the one with the freckle above her brow, the one which mirrored his. The man who'd had a penchant for the local diner's cheeseburgers and always thought he'd die of a heart attack until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. The man who had drifted quietly away, parting on satisfied, dreamy thoughts of hugging Bella goodbye.

It all hurt, all burned, because as I worked through the day, and then the night, I realized that I _did_ understand Charlie Swan. We were connected by something that transcended our many differences.

We both loved a girl—differently, but in a similar magnitude that defined who we were as men—or, even more so, who we _wanted_ to be. And I understood how it hurt to let her go, to let her fly and make her own choices; for him to leave her behind, for me to give her the space she needed right now.

Each note demanded to be written, played and heard. It was a familiar pull, a corporeal ache in my chest, to give this life as much justice as I possibly could. If the music lived, he would, too—a little, somewhere, in ears and minds. His story needed—_had_—to be heard. And perhaps its telling would help mend the wounds I'd inflicted.

Perhaps I could heal us yet.

* * *

_**Closing Notes:** If you'd like to hear "Charlie's Theme," check out Whitetree's "The Room." It's in this chapter's playlist / on the SotPM blog._


	22. Haunted by Ghosts of Light and Darkness

**_Author's Notes (April 29, 2011):_**_ Special thanks to **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u**, **GreatChemistry** and **smexy4smarties**. They're keeping me in line._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ None_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm22-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 22: HAUNTED BY GHOSTS OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS**

* * *

_How do I end up this way?_  
_A constant knot in my gut,_  
_Tied with uncertainty and with lust._  
_A classic case, I suppose,_  
_A haunted man, who can't outrun his ghosts_  
_They're in my skin and my bones._

_"Constant Knot" by City and Colour_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
I parked my car alongside the road, some distance from the house. Walking at a human pace to the brick driveway, I listened to Bella's rhythmic heartbeat. It calmed my scattered thoughts. Somewhat.

I kept staring at the objects in my hands—a stargazer lily tied with simple twine to a CD case—wondering if I was doing the right thing. I hadn't bought an arrangement, much to the florist's dismay. I'd learned from human thought over the years that an overabundance of flower arrangements after a funeral was a rather awkward problem and more a reminder of grief than a comfort. As such, I'd only bought the one flower. The number of flowers probably didn't matter. I could buy Bella all the flowers in Washington State, and it wouldn't fix our problems. I knew that.

The florist had assured me that this species of lily had an appropriately symbolic meaning of sympathy. She put it into words as "It says you're sorry."

And I was. For so many things.

I wanted to do more, but the thing I wanted to do most—take back my actions—I _couldn't_ do, and with gifts, I'd learned quickly that Bella appreciated small gestures with significant meaning; extravagance embarrassed her. So I was down to a lily and a CD. Hopefully, there was at least some significance to this gift. Perhaps she'd find comfort in the music, even if she was yet understandably uncomfortable around me.

When I'd made it to the porch, I stood there for ten minutes, perhaps longer. There were thirty-one flaws in the door, some natural, some not. A lonely pair of muddy boots that had belonged to Charlie leaned into one another at one end of the porch, near a weathered bench with chipped red paint. A vacant mud dauber's nest was wedged in a corner. Spider silks hidden in nooks and crannies shifted with the breeze. I took inventory of every detail. It did nothing to calm me.

Of course, I knew I was stalling, but knowledge of that didn't stop me. I'd rehearsed what I would to say to Bella, but it didn't feel right. Nothing felt right; nothing _had_ felt right since I'd hurt her.

Everything was wrong, right down to my own body. My hair was a mess. The unnecessary scarf about my throat, though soft, was like a hangman's noose. Venom continuously flooded the back of my mouth—sweet and slick and unwelcome. At times, I was statue still; at others, I fidgeted, humanlike in my distress.

Finally, I grew a pair and knocked on the door.

There was a light thumping sound as Bella's socked feet met the stairs, then the door swung open. Whoever she'd thought might be on the other side, I was obviously not one of them, which saddened me. Her eyes widened; her pulse quickened. I smelled adrenaline and hated how much her blood still called to me.

"Edward? What are you doing here?" She ran a hand over her hair, flattening fly-away strands.

"Don't worry. I'm not looking to stay," I said quickly, hoping to put her at ease. "I only wanted to give you something." I stuck out the hand that held the CD case and lily. I'd been much more debonair in all my imagined scenarios.

Bella's hands shook as she accepted my gift. "A CD?" she asked, studying it. She trailed the tip of a forefinger down the lily's green stem, then along the corner edge of the CD case.

I nodded, though she wasn't looking at me. "You wanted me to compose something." I hesitated to say Charlie's name.

Bella's eyes snapped back to my face. "For my dad?"

"There are two tracks on the CD"—the other was her lullaby—"but yes, I composed something for him. It's not much, I know..."

The scent of salt hit the air as tears welled in her eyes. "Edward, this is wonderful… Thank you. You don't know what this means to me. I didn't know you'd really do it…"

"I hope I've done him justice," I said, feeling more and more uncomfortable now that the work was in her possession. "Your father was a good man."

Sniffling, she nodded. She pulled the CD and lily in close, to hold them to her stomach. "You're coming to the funeral, right? Alice said she gave you the details."

"This Saturday—of course I am."

"Good, okay. I'm glad." Bella chewed on her bottom lip, looking young and uncertain.

"Are you all right here, alone?"

"I'm fine." She looked over her shoulder into the house. "Just doing some cleaning, giving stuff away. After the New Year, Esme's gonna help me fix everything up and sell the house."

I hadn't expected that. "_Sell_ it? Are you sure? If this is about money—"

Her gaze came back to me, narrowed. "It's _not_. I just…" She sighed and shrugged. "I don't know that there's any reason to keep it. Any reason to stay here. Forks has never been _my_ home. I thought once—but no, it's not."

"So you'll go back to—"

"I may leave Washington," she blurted out.

Well. So much for my living in Port Angeles.

"I see," I murmured, and my chest felt tight. "Is this because of me—somewhat?" I told myself I'd understand if it was, that I'd understand if she wanted to run away.

One day, I'd fade from her memories. It killed me.

Staring at her hands, Bella stroked the CD case with her fingers. "I don't know. Partly. Maybe. If you can't tell me the truth,"—her words broke off, and she pulled in an uneven breath—"I'll have to leave. I don't know where I'll go or what I'll do, but if you don't really want me, I can't be here."

"_Bella_," I chastised. "Of course I want you. You must know that by now."

That I wanted too _little_ of her had never been the problem.

Her eyes glistened as she looked up at me. "I know you want me…_in a way_. In a lot of ways. But you don't really want to _tell me_." She swallowed. "You're afraid. For me—maybe even _of_ me?"

I breathed out a laugh that sounded hollow and dark. "You've always been very perceptive."

"Not perceptive enough, though," she whispered. Keeping one hand on the lily and CD case, she reached out with the other and gripped one of my hands. She took another shaky breath, and blood rushed to her cheeks. "Whatever the truth is, we can face it together. I'm sure."

So many hopeful thoughts swam through my mind in that moment—powerful ideas that drowned out the cacophony of nearby people's musings. I entertained daydreams of Bella's acceptance, of everything working out. Then the waves crashed down upon me with memories of my innocent victims begging for mercy, of my cruelty in how I'd toyed with some of them, of bruises the shape of my fingerprints dark upon porcelain skin.

Bella deserved better.

"The truth is often more palatable _before_ you know it," I said.

Bella frowned and let go of my hand. "Knowing would be better than _not_ knowing," she spat. She sucked in a breath and took a step back. "Then I could at least understand the things that have happened around me—_to_ me. When are you going to get that? When are you going to get that I _love_ you? Have you ever thought that I maybe want to _help_ you with whatever it is that"—she waved her free hand in confusion—"with whatever's up with you! Whatever you are. I know it bothers you."

I didn't reply. For what felt like the thousandth time, we'd come to an impasse. The same one. It was always the same one.

She didn't invite me in, nor did I ask to stay. This was merely one difficult conversation of more to come. I thought that somewhere deep down, despite all the anguish, we both knew now was not the time to truly go into it, not with Charlie's ghost yet hovering in the background. Bella needed space still. I needed to decide what to do.

After the funeral, then. Then, we would talk. Then, we'd come to some conclusion. Perhaps… Perhaps I would even tell her the truth. I didn't know.

"I should go." I kissed Bella's forehead. "I'm sorry."

She kissed my cheek. "Have some faith in me. _Please_."

I left with the fading warmth of her kiss.

* * *

For the next three days, I lived between Forks and Port Angeles. Bella had always instilled in me a number of emotions, not least of which included curiosity and obsession. I tried to balance these feelings, to give her space and privacy as I should, but I often found myself back in the woods behind her house. When I was away from her, it bothered me, especially now, when she was grieving and alone. I needed to see her, needed to hear the steady, fluid rhythm of blood in her veins, and—shallow though it may have been—I desperately wanted to know if she liked my music.

How my pieces were received had always mattered to me—more than it should have—and with Bella… Well, Bella's opinion I held in the highest regard. What would she think of my work when alone? She liked it well enough when I played it for her, but hearing it recorded would be different. I didn't have her unedited thoughts to tell me how she felt. Only in these stolen moments, when I watched her in shadows, could I find out even a piece of the truth.

I waited and watched, and she listened. But it was more than that. She listened again and again and again—so many times that I wondered how she wasn't sick of the tracks. Still, I was pleased, honored. Perhaps I had done right by Charlie, by his daughter.

Sometimes she cried when she listened. Sometimes she smiled. She played the CD when she was awake and left it to endlessly repeat while she slept.

At least in this, I thought, I'd done something right. I couldn't take back what I'd done, perhaps I'd never even be able to tell her the truth, but in this I'd shown her a human part of myself that was peaceful and worthy of some pride. If this was what I left her with, I could be satisfied. That was what I told myself, at least.

Then, the day before Charlie's funeral, something strange happened.

It was early evening; however, being winter, there was little light. The CD I'd made for Bella played on repeat on the old stereo inside the house. She'd turned the volume up and left the back door ajar, so she could listen while she sat on a plastic lawn chair in the backyard. She was bundled up in a coat and blanket, a lone Citronella candle glowing warm and golden in its bucket holder by her sneakered feet. A notepad and pen lay on her lap.

She sat still, with her head tilted back and eyes closed, and I dared to edge nearer. I was drawn to her. Her body, the misty puff of her breath, the beacon of candlelight, were warm and bright against the cold darkness of winter, against the unforgiving lifelessness of my flesh.

As the music I'd composed for Charlie lilted, some level of peace descended to infuse Bella's spirit. I watched it happen. A calm smile played on her lips as a single teardrop rolled along the side of her nose, reflecting the flickering candle flame. I'd seen people listen to my work before; I wasn't unused to seeing emotion on their faces. With Bella, though, it was different. It always was.

In the months that I'd known her, even in those quiet moments we'd shared, I'd never seen her look this way—not quite. The lines of her face were smooth, as they were when she slept. Her heartbeat slowed to calmness. Everything about her radiated peace and acceptance.

It was as if my world—perhaps the whole world—quieted with her. The voices in my head softened to a whisper, and I felt my shoulders sag, as if some heavy burden had finally—_finally_—been removed from my back.

Whatever overcame her, it eventually drove her to write. She'd told me once that she'd liked to write before Charlie was ill, that words had been a comfort to her time and again, when she'd been a child pulled between two parents, an adolescent misfit in the burning hot Southwest, a drifting college-goer. Life's many demands had made her abandon the interest, but now she wrote again to the sound of my piano music. I sat at the base of a tree and watched, enjoying the peace her mood had fostered, wondering at how attuned I was to her at times.

As she slept that night, I stole into the house to read her words. She'd placed them under the weight of the dragonfly fossil. There were scribbled verses here and there in the margins, a letter to the Cullens to thank them for all their help during Charlie's illness and with the funeral, and lastly, Charlie's eulogy. She'd been working on drafts of it for a long time, I knew, but this was freshly written and stronger than previous versions. Perhaps my music had inspired her. I liked to think so. Tomorrow she'd speak these words before a small gathering of people.

I wondered how she'd handle speaking about her father to others. Bella didn't seem fond of being the center of attention, and I knew she had a less than favorable opinion of a number of the citizens in Forks after their lack of support. Never mind that she never would have accepted their help; that was beside the point.

As I sat in a rocking chair at the foot of her bed, I ran my fingers over her script. She had a chicken-scratch sort of hand, like most of her generation did; elegant penmanship, after all, was no longer sought after. Our times were different. I had faint memories from my human childhood of having my knuckles smacked with a wooden yardstick when I slipped into "rebellious" left-handedness. Yes, times had indeed changed. People, social customs and expectations had changed, while I lingered in this limbo of neither life nor death.

I looked at Bella and sighed.

Women expected more equality and less protection these days—honesty, disclosure. Bella expected these things of our relationship, and truly, I felt she had every right to—were I a man. I couldn't forget for one moment that I _wasn't_ only a man. Not anymore. I'd forgotten myself with her that night. I wouldn't again.

But to tell the truth or not? _I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't._ A catch-22.

I was terrified that I might hurt her more than I already had, that she might hurt me. Worst of all, and not without a great deal of irony, I knew time was running out.

* * *

I needed to hunt before the funeral. The dry burn at the back of my throat had evolved past the point of distraction. No matter how much I'd become used to denying myself human blood and Bella's especially delectable scent, I needed twice as much blood to be around her comfortably. I was decimating Washington's ecosystem.

There was no escaping the need for blood, and rarely had I even escaped the want. Once an addict, always an addict.

Running through the forest, I searched for something that would quell my thirst; I aimed for expeditious, not necessarily flavorful. Winter had driven most wildlife to migrate or hibernate, but deer were yet plentiful as they nosed about in the woods, searching for edible moss and bark. I found a doe and took her blood without preamble, eager to return to Bella one more time before I made my way to Port Angeles and readied myself for the afternoon.

As I neared Forks' city limits again, thoughts drifted into my head. One part of my brain sifted through them casually, unable to completely ignore them; mind reading wasn't something I could turn off, even after decades of the nonsense.

It was always the same. People having sex. People masturbating, while wishing they were having sex. People having sex, wishing they were masturbating. Pornography. Enough deviancy to appall local churches, really. Arguments over money. People hating their jobs. Inane Facebook status messages that no one cared about. Jenny was eating a late breakfast. Peter thought that was "cool." A hangover. A maxed-out credit card. A dirty diaper. A bargaining prayer with God. I'd heard it all a million times before.

But then one mental voice, an all too familiar one, floated up out of the dissonance.

_I should have been here. How can I make this better? I don't want you to hate me._

I recognized it at once, even if I didn't want to believe it was her. With an anguished cry, I stopped beside a tree and ceased to breathe. _No_. No, it couldn't be… Not now. Please, not now. I put all of my focus on that one mental voice.

But it was her. I'd know her mind anywhere, because it had played a crucial role in changing me forever. The scattered and childlike mental leaps, the way she thought directly to people in her mind, the uncomfortable uncertainty over her own flightiness: all of this was Renée.

All of this would be my undoing.

How had I not realized she'd come for the funeral?

I still didn't want to believe it was so. I shook my head and ran the rest of the way to Charlie's old house, where I hid again to wait and watch.

A red rental car was parked at the end of the driveway, and Renée stood at the front door, much as I had days earlier. I leaned against a shadowed tree, agonized, as if my tireless limbs were incapable of holding up my weight. It truly was her—no longer a girl, perhaps, a little thicker around her middle, a few lines at the corners of her eyes, but Renée, all the same.

She held a large flower arrangement in her hands. It was bright, cheery—orange and white and pink and yellow. They were colors for her, more than for Bella or Charlie. Renée had trouble seeing past herself; that hadn't changed.

I stood among the trees and watched as she knocked on the door, as Bella not only allowed her entrance into the house, but threw her arms around Renée's neck in a tight embrace, crushing flowers between them. When they let go of one another, there was awkwardness, knowledge of all the times Renée had not followed through as a mother, but Bella gave Renée a watery smile and invited her inside.

And I stood on the outside, looking in, wondering how I could survive this.

* * *

"I'm glad you're all here," I said to the three Cullens that had become my unlikely friends. They'd welcomed me into their home again, despite my panicked demeanor. I glanced at Alice. She was already dressed in funeral black. "I'm sure you know why I've come."

"Not really." She tilted her head. "What's going on?"

"Renée."

I thought that would be enough for her to understand, but she only stared at me, her mind its usual entanglement of visions; no particular thought about Renée surfaced, save confusion over what I would have to do with her. I stared back blankly.

"Are you nervous about meeting her?" she guessed.

I barked out a laugh. "You don't know," I said in surprise.

"Know _what_?"

So she really _hadn't_ been watching my existence unfold. This time I wished she did know, if only it would mean I didn't have to tell them. I was newly embarrassed by my past. These vampires had a much more spotless track record than my own, and now I had need to share one of my darkest nights with them.

"Is Bella all right?" Esme asked in concern from where she sat beside Carlisle on a small sofa.

We were all seated. I could smell food in the kitchen—a roast, ham, something with an egg base—early preparations for the evening meal the Cullens had promised they'd hold after Charlie's funeral. It was all so human—life and death and food. None of us rightly fit into such an equation, especially me.

"Bella's all right, I suppose—coping," I answered, remembering her serene expression from the night before.

"Then what troubles you?" Carlisle said. "You said Renée…"

"I didn't expect her to be here. I don't know why I didn't, but I didn't."

"I booked Renée's flight," Alice said. "She's only here today—staying in Port Angeles tonight. I didn't know it'd be a problem." Her brows bunched together. "Why _is_ she a problem, Edward?"

"Renée and I…" I looked down at my hands, where they rested on my lap. I remembered all the times I'd cleaned human blood from beneath my nails. "We have a past."

"A _past_?" Alice asked. She sifted through memorized visions too swiftly for me to hold onto them.

"I met Renée before," I explained. "Before Bella."

"When Renée was a girl?" Esme asked.

Unable to contain my energy, I rose and began to pace the length of the living room, from the Christmas tree that was before one of the large front windows, to the doorway of the kitchen. "1987," I answered, "to be exact."

"Eighty-seven?" Carlisle intoned. "But that… While Renée was pregnant with Bella?" _That can't be right._

I turned on him and shouted, "I didn't know!"

Carlisle raised his hands. "No one's judging you here." His thoughts proved as much, but still I glared at him.

"Tell us what happened," Esme coaxed, her voice gentle.

I collapsed down to the couch again and rested my head in my hands. "It's a long story. I'm not proud of it."

"The funeral isn't for hours yet," Esme said. _I hope he tells us._

I didn't see where I had a choice. There was no way I could handle this alone.

So I told them a brief history of my sordid existence, what I'd become in the last three decades. Alice knew some things—knew of my ritual to kill innocents on the twelfth of each month—but there were other details she'd missed. She'd not known how bad it had gotten before I met Renée, how consumed I'd been by blood and bitter anger. She'd definitely not known about Renée herself or that it had been Bella's barely-there life that had made me give up human blood. She'd only known that Bella was a key to bringing me into the Cullen fold.

I'd surprised the oracle, but there was no victory in it.

"You see my problem," I said when I was finished telling them what I had to share. Their shock was palpable, their pity almost stifling. "If Renée sees and recognizes me, everything falls apart—even more than it already has." I looked at Alice. "What happens when I don't go to the funeral?"

She frowned. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you _don't know_?"

"I mean, I _really_ don't know. I _can't_ know. Some of the Quileutes will be there. The werewolves have a defense mechanism against me. Any time they're involved, I can't see what's going to happen."

"Great," I said dryly. "That's just great." Fucking overgrown dogs.

"We'll help you," Carlisle offered. "Between the three of us, I think we can keep you and Renée apart, but still let Bella see you've attended the funeral."

Esme nodded. "I'll help distract Renée when necessary."

"You would do that for me?" I looked at all of them.

"You're part of the family, dear," Esme said, smiling. Alice nodded emphatically at my right. "We protect our own as best we can."

Family. Perhaps they were.

"I… Thank you," I said, meaning it. "I apologize for bringing you into the middle of my problems. I've done this to myself. It should really be my—"

"_Edward_," Carlisle interrupted, his lips twisting into a bitter smirk. "As much as I loathe it, lying is part of our lifestyle. We'll help protect you from this."

* * *

"Does this seem done to you?" Esme asked, one hand on her hip as we stared at a honey-glazed leg of ham.

"It _looks_ done," I answered. "The temperature is right, at least."

"Human food is such a challenge," she opined. _If only I hadn't burned that second batch of quiches…_

"Have you worked with cream cheese yet?"

She looked up at me. "No, why?"

"_Don't_," I said, unable to suppress a shudder.

"Edward?" Carlisle stood at the doorway of the kitchen. "Do you have a moment?"

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. "I should be going. I need to change for the funeral."

"We're the same build. You can borrow one of my suits." _Come take a walk with me._

There was something about the tone of his thoughts that told me I wouldn't enjoy this conversation. "Will you be fine here?" I asked Esme, hoping she'd say no.

She waved a hand. "Of course. I've been cooking longer than you have, no doubt. Go on."

Carlisle and I walked along the edge of the Sol Duc River, which snaked through part of their property. I tried to gather from his thoughts the reason for this walk, but his mind was calm and still, as always.

"Quite a story you shared with us," Carlisle said after some time of walking.

"I wish it wasn't my story to tell."

"We don't always get to choose, do we?" _You hardly had control over what happened. It's understandable._ "Bella's blood calls to you. I didn't know."

"Yes," I replied simply, and swallowed venom. It came whenever I consciously thought of her blood.

"Your control is commendable," Carlisle said. "Few are able to ignore a siren call such as that. It's amazing that you've not hurt her."

Looking down at my feet as they stepped through brush, I said quietly, "Alice hasn't told you."

"Told me what?"_ What is it?_

"Renée isn't the only complication. I left out that part. I thought you knew, that Alice would have told you. I… Bella and I aren't exactly on the best terms. At present."

"Ah," he said. "Things did seem tense between you two, but I thought it was primarily Charlie's passing and the issue of your telling her the truth."

I balled my hands into fists. "I hurt her."

Horrible scenarios flashed through Carlisle's mind—broken bones, bleeding, both external and internal. He spoke none of these, however. "Tell me what happened. Do I need to examine her?"

I shook my head. "She didn't want to call you. I asked."

"Are you sure she's physically well? Bella has been known to downplay injuries in the past, believe me."

"She's bruised badly, but…I think she's all right. She's healing. It was a week ago." The bruises were now an ugly green and yellow, but healing, nonetheless.

_You've been watching her without her knowledge._

I nodded once, ashamed.

Carlisle frowned. "What happened exactly?"

"I lost control," I said, my voice soft. "She'd gone to La Push. She didn't tell me where she was, that she was going there. And then she smelled like _Jacob Black_ when she got home." A growl built in my chest. "It was too much on top of everything else. I reacted. I couldn't think." I remembered losing myself to fear and anger, to an animal instinct that no normal man would be slave to.

"You attacked her." _An accident, but you attacked her. She's lucky to be alive._

"Yes." My voice broke on the word. "And all she wants from me is the truth."

"It sounds as though both of you have been lying to one another. Truth might have prevented that from happening." _The truth will set you free._

"It might make me lose her forever."

"Are your actions now ensuring you'll keep her?" Carlisle challenged.

"No," I admitted, frowning. "You're right."

He stopped and turned to me. I stood still before him, and he put a hand on my shoulder. "You have to choose, Edward. I think you know this. Your past with Renée is _unique_, to say the least, but Renée is hardly the only problem you'll face in trying to have a relationship with Bella, with any human."

I jerked away from him. "As if I need _you_ to tell me that!"

He didn't react to my outburst. _Calm yourself._ Beginning to walk again, he said, "My family and I need to leave soon. I'm afraid my coworkers have become too suspicious of my agelessness." He sighed, his thoughts tinged with frustration. "I'm on sabbatical now, and we're hoping to leave by February."

This news was surprising enough to cool my frustration. "You're going to leave Bella?"

Carlisle glanced at me. "That depends wholly on your decision. And hers." He pictured a red-eyed Bella. "I told you we would help if that's the path you're choosing." He gave a hesitant smile. "Where we relocate may depend on whether we have a hungry newborn to contend with, of course."

I stopped walking and looked up at the cloudy sky that was visible amid breaks in the trees. "I don't know what to do, Carlisle," I admitted. "I'm lost."

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Any wisdom you have to share would be greatly appreciated," I said wryly, looking back at him.

"Revealing our secret is to play a dangerous game," he said, "but I believe you've already made your decision, Edward." _You want to change her, or you'd not be standing here now. Whatever you're telling yourself—whatever excuses you're making—they aren't true. _"You know this."

"I could leave," I protested half-heartedly.

His brows lifted. "_Could_ you?"

I imagined leaving—truly imagined it. It had been a vague concept before that moment, a simple matter of my not being where Bella was. I'd thought of it as if Bella were in Forks, and I were in Port Angeles—apart, but close, driving or running distance. But it wouldn't be that way. She would go elsewhere—far elsewhere, perhaps—and I shouldn't follow. She would grow older. I wouldn't. So many paths, and none of them would be ones I should or could take.

"I could _try_ to leave," I amended.

"And you think you could part from her for eighty years?" he said. "Through knowing she married another, perhaps had children by him?"

Sadness and jealousy rolled through me. The thought of another kissing her burned hot and angry in my stomach, and ached in my chest. "I don't know."

"If you can't say yes, then you have your answer. Anything past that is up to Bella." He touched my shoulder again. "We should head back."

I followed him silently, wondering, and feeling impossibly tired in doing so. I was tired of fighting what I wanted, of being afraid, of denying Bella the one simple thing she continued to beg of me. I couldn't imagine decades of struggling against this, of not being by her side. When I thought purely of what I wanted—consequences and reality be damned—I wanted to share my life with Bella. With her at my side, it would _be_ a life.

Was it really that simple? Could it be?

"Do you think she'll accept me?" I asked when we reached the porch of the Cullen mansion.

"You won't know until you tell her the truth," he said. Then he smiled and thought, _But Esme accepted me._

Indeed, she had. I watched Esme and Carlisle interact then. The way she sent him a soft smile, the way he touched her wrist, how their thoughts were often in tune, as happens after decades of knowing another.

I watched Esme fuss over Carlisle's tie as Alice flitted about me, complaining that Carlisle's suit didn't fit me as well as a tailor-made one would have. I didn't bother telling her that the one I'd planned to wear wasn't tailored either; she likely already knew.

Esme leaned up on tiptoe and kissed Carlisle once his tie was straight, and I knew the twisting in my stomach for what it was: envy. I wanted what they had. I wanted honesty as much as Bella did. For the first time, that desire overrode my fear. I even allowed myself to hope—only a little, but the seed of it was there—to imagine the possibility that Bella _might_ accept me, that the truth might not make her run away, screaming. She said it wouldn't. Perhaps she was right.

At least Carlisle was right. I did have my answer. It was possible I'd had it for a long time. If I survived Renée's presence, I would tell Bella the truth.

* * *

_**Closing Notes:** I still suck at review replies. I got to some of you, but not all. :( Please know I read everything you write, though! I love hearing your thoughts._

_Much love,  
Solarrr_


	23. Of Burials and Exhumations

**_Author's Notes (May 25, 2011):_**_ Sorry updates are a little slower lately; real life ain't always peachy. Hugs and sloppy kisses to **duskwatcher2153**, **Aleeab4u**, **GreatChemistry** and **smexy4smarties**. _

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm23-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm23-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 23: OF BURIALS AND EXHUMATIONS**

* * *

_"All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive the world: _  
_our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted."_

_From "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
Fidgeting in a black dress, I rattled my car keys at the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up, Mom! We need to head out!" I was _not_ going to be late to my father's funeral.

"Just fixing my hair! You know what being on a plane is like."

I glanced at a clock. "I'll give you three minutes!"

While waiting for Renée, I paced the living room, knots in my stomach. I hated today. _Hated it._ It felt like my father was dying all over again, but this time my grief would be on display. _Why did I make his funeral open to the public?_ I didn't want to face anyone. I didn't give a damn about them, and they didn't give a damn about me, really. I'd never fit in here. Why did it matter if they got a chance to say goodbye or not? And yet I'd made it public. It was going to be public. People were going to be there with all their meaningless pity.

I felt sick.

Charlie's eulogy felt heavy in the one pocket of my black dress, even though it was just three sheets of folded notebook paper.

The medicine I'd taken to curb my nausea wasn't working. _I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick._

_No._

_No, you aren't. Take a deep breath. Relax._

I tried to breathe like Edward, where each breath was slow and tranquil. I thought of his music for my father, the lullaby that he'd declared was mine. His love grounded me, at least for the moment.

Five minutes had passed.

"Mom, I'm going! You can take your rental car!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Renée shouted back as she came to the top of the stairs and sprinted down, her light brown hair bouncing in curls. Sweet-scented perfume flowed with her. The scent of it reminded me of the sea and sunshine.

I started out the door, but she stopped me.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, smoothing one hand down her dress. It wasn't black or grey or anything you'd expect to see on a person going to a funeral. She had a black shawl, but the dress was turquoise, a long-sleeved wrap dress that she'd probably bought at some new age store that specialized more in crystals than fabrics.

She looked ridiculous, but I told her she looked fine. "Now let's go."

It had turned cold after lunchtime, and the inside of my car was freezing. Our teeth chattered, and I laughed as I fumbled with the heating, while turning onto the 101. "Sorry," I apologized. It always took forever for the heating to kick in.

"It's okay," Renée said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "It's probably just me. You know I don't handle the rain and cold well."

"Yeah. Guess I've sort of gotten used to it."

"Maybe so. You've been here long enough for that. Do you plan to stay?"

"In Washington?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw her nod.

_Great. Now I get to have this conversation with her._ It'd been uncomfortable enough with Edward.

I wasn't sure how I should answer. Edward's face came to mind, pale and beautiful. My stomach flipped again. _I'm going to be sick. _"I don't know," I answered.

"Well, there's no reason for you to stay now. You should consider moving somewhere warmer."

I gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I'm just taking things one day at a time." Anything else and I'd explode.

As if she hadn't heard me at all, she said, "You should come to Jacksonville, baby. There's a great school. It's sunny—get to wear your shades and flip-flops. The people are great. Lots of cute guys. Oh, you know we miss you, too. It'd be so good to have you near us. You could even stay with us while you get set up! It'd be just like old times!"

Old times. I almost laughed. When I was my mother's parent? I didn't want "old times." And I seriously doubted my stepdad Phil would be thrilled to have me move back.

Would I ever fit in anywhere?

"Mom, I don't know what I'll do. Esme Cullen is going to help me sell Dad's house and his truck. Then…I don't know." I laughed, and it came out a harsh and short. "Maybe I'll take the money and run off to Europe." If there was any money left after I paid back the Cullens and Edward for all their help.

"Oh, it's dreary there, too, honey. You need sunshine. You're so pale. You never really liked Washington, especially after Jacob. I thought you were just here for your father."

I didn't reply.

Renée was quiet for a moment. My stomach gurgled loudly in the car. I hadn't eaten; it was the sound of acid eating at me.

"This is about a boy, isn't it?"

I'd forgotten how perceptive my mother could be. I cleared my throat and glared out the windshield. It was misting rain; set to the slowest speed, the windshield wipers periodically dashed water away. "I've been seeing someone, yeah." I hadn't told her about Edward. All recent conversations with Renée had been pleas for her to help Charlie and me.

"Is he cute?"

That _would_ be her first question. In spite of my mood, I laughed. "You could say that," I said, while thinking _cute_ was too silly of a word for someone of inhuman beauty.

_Maybe he's a ghost. An angel. A devil. An alien. Maybe I _am_ just crazy._

I'd never let go of that possibility, not totally.

"Oh, come on, give me details."

I worked hard to keep the dorky grin off my face, but it didn't work. "He's tall," I said. "Messy, reddish hair, but it works. Nice hands." I blushed and spluttered, "He plays piano, I mean."

"Why haven't you told me about him?" Renée asked, her tone chastising. "Oh, well, tell me everything now. What's his name? How'd you meet? How long have you been going out? Oh, wait, let me guess. You met him at school. He's a lit major. Very political."

"Slow down, Mom," I sighed. "We met a few months ago on my birthday." That she'd forgotten, but I didn't say that. "He's been great, everything I could want, but I'm not sure things will work out between us." I felt sick again, this time with want. "And his name is Edward."

She didn't say anything for a long time, then she began hacking loudly.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I patted her back, alarmed. "Mom? You okay?"

Gasping for breath, she nodded and leaned back in her seat. "Just swallowed the wrong way. Must be all that plane cabin air—recycled stuff, completely unhealthy. _Edward_, you said?"

"Um, yeah."

Again, Renée didn't say anything for a minute, and when I glanced at her, she was staring straight ahead, looking paler than usual under her Florida tan.

"You don't look so good," I said. "Are you okay?" _Maybe Dad's death has finally hit her._

"I'm okay," she whispered. The fabric of her dress rustled as she twisted and knotted her fingers in it. "You're being careful with this—this Edward? He's… Is he good to you?"

I knew I wasn't being careful with Edward and that relationships shouldn't be founded on lies. I didn't go into any of that, though. I just said "yes." As an afterthought, I added, "Dad liked him."

"Charlie was always a good judge of character. Maybe it's okay then," she said, and her voice was high and loud in the car, a little hysterical. "I'm sure it'll be okay," she continued. "What do I know, anyway? I'm certainly not one to give you relationship advice."

I couldn't argue with her there.

Quieting, she looked out the passenger window then, fingers still twisting in turquoise. She didn't say anything else, and I left her to her grief.

* * *

Charlie had organized a simple funeral behind my back, and I'd made it open to the public. I could have upgraded everything, had a proper wake, a church service, a procession, but this felt right—the simplicity he'd signed himself up for. Here at the Forks cemetery, my father was beneath an open, if cloudy, sky and amid green grass. There'd be no viewing of the body here, no parading of sickly skin and bones. I was glad. I didn't want anyone to remember him that way. _I_ didn't want to remember him that way. I was working on that part.

The rain stopped by the time we pulled into the cemetery, but there was still something akin to fog settling. Renée had calmed. She now looked as determined as I felt. Determined to get through this.

_Do. Not. Get. Sick._

The Cullens got to the cemetery around the same time we did. Dressed in an elegant, black dress and old-fashioned, lacy hat, Esme strode over and pulled me into a hug. She kissed my cheek. "Hello, dear. How are you holding up?" she asked, while grasping my hands in her thinly gloved ones; they did little to mask the chill of her skin.

"I'm okay," I said. Carlisle passed by, taking a moment to kiss my hair.

When Carlisle and Esme started talking to my mother—reintroducing themselves, because they'd only met briefly at my high school graduation—Alice slipped to my side and rested her head on my shoulder. A lock of her black hair flitted against my neck, soft as silk. "I miss your dad, Bella."

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I whispered back, "I do, too."

Everything hurt like hell, but the nausea wasn't so bad with the Cullens here. I'd think about how fucked up that was later. What was wrong with me that I continued to take comfort in liars who weren't even human?

The five of us made our way to Charlie's burial plot. It was on a small hill, beside a giant pine tree. It made me think of the day we'd spent together at Ozette Lake, and how I wished I'd had more days like that with him.

Punctual as always, Pastor Weber was waiting for us beside the casket, his worn, red-leather Bible clasped in long-fingered hands. Angela, her mother and two younger brothers stood beside him, stoic. They'd done this dozens of times for dozens of Forks' families; they knew the drill. Lauren stood with them as well, her lips pursed, whether in sadness or discomfort, I didn't know.

I hugged Angela and Lauren for a long time. I hadn't seen them in over a week, and the tears in my eyes were as much for my loss of Charlie as they were my loss of young adulthood, my slow but inevitable loss of them. A lot of things were dying in my life—my father, my innocence, the stability of my world. I think they felt it, too, in the way you always feel stages of your life die off. Angela and Ben would be married soon, and their child would take up their world, as he or she should. Lauren was leaving for New York in three days, to grab hold of dreams.

I would be here—or elsewhere—trying to sort myself out. Possibly alone.

We clung to each other until we had to let go. You always have to let go eventually. There seems to be some unspoken rule.

With my mother beside me, I forced myself to look at the casket, which was surrounded by flowers. The casket wasn't anything special. It wasn't the cheapest thing, either, but it was modest. Why shouldn't it be? It was just going in the ground. I'd told the Cullens as much when they'd offered to get some extravagant mahogany thing with platinum handles and fancy, hand-sewn lining. I'd told them there was no point. My father wasn't _really_ in this box, after all.

I wished I did know where he was, if he was anywhere at all.

Renée wept quietly at my right. I stood still, not close enough that we were touching, but beside her. I should have been a good daughter, reached out to her, because it would have been the right thing to do, and she was the only parent I had left, but her tears left me cold. I wandered away a little, tried to ignore her as I looked at the names and dates on other gravestones. I recognized many of the surnames. People tended to get stuck in Forks. That was another reason to sell Charlie's house. I didn't want to be one of the stuck ones. I didn't want to be buried here.

Carlisle consoled my mother. I pretended not to notice or care, and felt bitter and guilty for it. It was going to take time for me to forgive Renée.

_I'm jaded_, I thought with a snort. I hadn't always been. Or had I?

The night before, I'd sat outside with Edward's music playing, and I'd known peace; all the pain and anger and nausea had gone away. I'd known that everything was okay. That I was safe and going to get through this—this death, this craziness with Edward. That Charlie was at rest, maybe even happy. I couldn't find any of those peaceful feelings now.

Want. I wanted Edward. I kept glancing toward the cemetery entrance, but he was never there.

_Maybe he won't come. Maybe you've pushed him away too much._

A sea of pale-skinned Forks residents in black, grey and dark blue, some toting umbrellas, began to make their way toward Charlie's plot. It didn't look like I was going to get peace any time soon.

I couldn't remember everyone's names, but I knew their faces—people my father had pointed out to me at the diner, those he'd worked for or with as a cop. There were people I'd gone to school with, too, who looked older, and better or worse for it.

Many stopped to say things to me, to offer pity and cluck their tongues. You'd think the aggrieved would be given a break, but it's the exact opposite. People swarm in with flowers and words, with absolutely no true regard for how you're doing. It's all about how they think they're supposed to react to your grief. Rituals.

"Too soon," they said, shaking their heads. They spoke softly—everyone does in a cemetery. "Cancer. Such a hard thing to beat," they said, touching my shoulder, my hands, my arms. "It was good he had you." Many looked at Renée when they said that; they were surprised she was here, and curious, as small town people always are.

_Nosy is more like it._

They meant well enough, but they didn't know me or mine—no matter what they thought. I stopped listening after a while.

I spotted tan skin in the crowd; some of the Quileutes had come, of course. I saw the Clearwaters—Sue, the woman who could have healed my father's heart; her son, Seth; and her daughter, my bitter, almost-housemate, Leah. At Seth's right, clothed in a suit jacket that poorly fit his muscled form, Jacob pushed Billy's wheelchair, unbothered by the less than ideal gravel terrain. Noticing me, he handed Billy off to Seth, and then made a beeline in my direction. My nausea resurfaced.

"Thanks for coming," I mumbled when he stood before me.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry he's gone. It's our loss, too. Dad hasn't been sleeping well since it happened."

I nodded, understanding. My sleep was haunted by dreams filled with scary monsters.

He looked at his father and the group of people around us. "You got a minute to talk?" He nodded his head toward the parked cars some distance away.

"I don't know," I hedged, thinking the last thing I wanted to do was get stuck talking to Jacob. "There are people here, wanting to say…stuff to me."

"Oh, come on. You don't care what these people have to say. I know you better than that."

"You don't know the first thing about me," I said, bristling even though he was right. "Look, Jacob, as glad as I am that you and Billy came today, I don't have the stomach to get into it with you." I made to leave and join my mother and the Cullens, but Jacob grabbed my shoulder. I jerked away from his touch and glared at him.

"Sorry," he said, holding up his hands. "Bella, _please_—really, it'll only take a minute to hear what I've got to say. It's important." His jaw was set, determined.

Jacob could be as stubborn as Edward. Or me. He wouldn't leave me alone.

"Okay," I relented with a sigh, "but make it quick."

A few minutes later, we stood beside the red 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit that Jacob had fixed up for himself when we were younger. It was hard to imagine his giant body fitting into this car.

"All right," I said. "What's so important?"

"Keep your voice down."

"Why?" I asked in a normal tone.

"Just do it," he hissed, glancing quickly behind him, up the hill where the funeral would take place. "I need you to remember something. The problem is I could get into a _lot_ of trouble for this conversation—probably will."

"Trouble? What's going on?"

"It's the Cullens. And Edward." He coughed and took a deep breath. "They're not what they seem." He shuddered.

Overwhelmed, I think I stopped breathing for a minute. Little more than a month ago, I'd thought the Quileutes and Cullens had some strange ethnic dispute, but I knew better now. I knew the Cullens weren't human, and I knew…something wasn't quite right with Leah and Jacob, at the very least. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

I'd thought the Quileutes might know something about the Cullens and Edward—and here was possible proof!—but I'd never known how much they knew or how I could talk to them about it. And since Charlie's death, I hadn't even _thought_ about them. Now Jacob was coming to me.

I took a risk. "You know…_what_ they are."

Eyes wide, he nodded and wheezed out a cough. "You're crazy. You mean to say you know they're not like—"

"They're not like us," I agreed more calmly than I felt, "but I don't know what they are. If you know, you have to tell me," I said. "Tell me everything."

"I _can't_ tell you everything," he muttered.

"What do you mean you can't?" My heart raced in my chest. "You have to. I'll do anything for the truth."

"It's not that easy, Bella. I wish it was."

"Of course it's that easy." I glared at him. "Why are we even having this conversation if you're not going to tell me anything? I mean, you're pulling me aside at my dad's funeral. This better be good."

"I'll—I'll tell you what I can." His voice was tight, his teeth clenched. "It's not much. It may not work at all, but I've got to try. I wish I could explain more, but I'm on a tight leash. Sam—"

"What does Sam have to do with this? No, wait, never mind," I growled. "Just fucking forget it. I don't know why you want to talk to me if you're just going to give me riddles instead of answers. What's the point?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and it did sound as though he meant it. "I really am sorry. This is so frustrating."

"You think it's frustrating for _you_? Try living in the dark _all the time_."

We stared at each other for a long moment, and still Jacob breathed heavily, like he'd been running in a marathon.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded once. "It really is a tight leash," he said, smiling grimly. "Some secrets aren't mine to give, so I'm kept from giving them." He rubbed at his throat as if he was genuinely pained.

"So you're saying _Sam_ doesn't want you telling this…secret. _Their_ secret." This was potentially bigger than I'd been aware. I'd never known Sam Uley and his rumored gang held so much sway in La Push. Rumor was Jacob was in that gang…

What did that mean?

"The crazy thing is you _already know_ the truth," Jacob said abruptly. "We've told you everything. We hide it under your nose."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember the bonfires we used to go to when we were dating?"

"What do the bonfire nights have to do with anything?"

"Just hear me out. You remember them?"

"Yeah, of course."

I'd been to many a Quileute bonfire. Smoke and flames and the scent of burning wood. Barbecue chicken, grilled fish, toasted marshmallows, s'mores when we had the graham crackers and chocolate. Boys and girls chasing each other along the beach. My first kiss with the boy—the man—standing before me. It seemed like a long time ago, but I remembered what I felt were the important moments.

"The stories," Jacob said, interrupting my thoughts. "Remember the stories."

I stared at him. "That's it?"

"It's all I can say."

"Remember a bunch of scary stories. Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot, Jacob."

"At least—at least this way you might figure it out. You have to remember. It's important for you to. You're in danger; you shouldn't be anywhere near them, especially Edward—I don't trust him at all. I've wanted to say something. I wanted to tell you when you came to La Push… I just didn't know _how_, and you ran away." He scoffed and ran a hand along the back of his neck. "Sam's gonna kill me for all this."

Sam was the least of his worries. _I_ wanted to kill him. "That is the most cryptic bullshit anyone's fed to me in, in—well, a couple of weeks. You're as bad as Edward." He opened his mouth to say something, but I waved him off. "_Don't even start_."

Frustrated, I shoved past him and made my way back to the funeral.

* * *

Pastor Weber's voice carried over the standing crowd, which surprisingly looked to be at least a hundred or more people. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: A time to be born and a time to die."

The time was too soon, I thought.

Biting my lip, I looked back, searching for Edward. He still wasn't here, as far as I could see.

"A time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build."

I looked again, searching the other side of the crowd. _Not there, either._

"A time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to love—"

_There_. There he was, standing calmly at the very back. He stood out, a paler face among pale faces, reddish hair among black and brown and blond. Though many people were between us, he caught my eye immediately and gave me a small smile, which I returned.

_Remember the stories._

But nothing came to mind.

I nudged Renée. "Mom, he's here," I whispered. I sounded and felt relieved. I didn't think I could say goodbye to Charlie without Edward. Regardless of our interpersonal drama, he'd been with me through the worst of the storm. Selfishly, I needed him.

Renée's head snapped to the right, looking behind us. I turned slightly, intending to point Edward out, but he wasn't standing there anymore.

"I don't see him," she said.

"He must have moved. That's strange… Oh, well, I'll introduce you after." Even though I probably shouldn't. What girl brings home an inhuman boyfriend? Were we together? Why was I still pretending he was normal?

Did I want him to be normal? It didn't matter if I did or not. He wasn't. I didn't think I cared, but there was so much I didn't know…

We said nothing else as the funeral proceeded, and I didn't search for Edward again. I didn't need to. I felt his eyes on me, his silent support. And I felt peace in the presence of the man who'd written beautiful, heartfelt music and held my hand as my father died.

All the while, Pastor Weber reminded us to love one another and to value our time on earth. Chief Mark Green spoke after Pastor Weber's introduction. He was a pockmarked man with grey-tinged sideburns who had been a deputy under my father. I'd always liked him after he'd let me off the hook for speeding on my motorcycle. As far as I knew, he'd never told Charlie, because I would have been grounded forever, otherwise.

He spoke of Charlie's dedicated service to the town of Forks, how my father had been willing to come in at any hour he was needed. Of course, Chief Green didn't mention that the reason Charlie had done that for so long was because his work had been his life. I wondered if the people of Forks had known that or been too caught up in their own lives to realize it.

Two other people spoke, and then it was my turn to speak.

On wobbly legs, I cleared my throat and faced the crowd. I'd never liked public speaking. Standing up in front of people wasn't my thing as a wallflower, and now, even when I so wanted to do this well, my voice shook. "Th-thank you for coming. My dad would be so honored to have you here."

I took a deep breath and glanced up. And caught sight of Edward. He nodded in encouragement, and my hands shook just a little less.

I'd decided to open with a quote from _Tuesdays with Morrie_. "Death ends a life," I said, "not a relationship."

I got into the swing of things once I dove into my notes. It probably wasn't a very typical eulogy—I didn't care—I just wanted everyone to know that Charlie Swan had been a good father and man and that he would always be with me, in me. They thought they knew him. They thought they knew me. I wanted them to see that they didn't. In a way, I wanted to shame them. I wanted them to know that just because Charlie had been their town chief, just because they'd seen him at the diner time and again, didn't mean they knew the first thing about him or his daughter or his ex-wife or any damn thing. I wanted them to know how much they'd lost by _not_ truly knowing him. It was something I hadn't learned until I'd moved here at seventeen; I'd lost so many years with him.

"My dad wasn't a very touchy-feely guy," I said, "but he told me something when I was six that I've never forgotten. It wasn't something I valued then. I don't think I truly understood it until I was twenty. He told me that he was my father _first_, above everything and everyone else." I looked at my mother, who stared at me with large eyes. "I could always trust in him, because my dad was constant."

I told stories about scraped knees and fishing. I told them about Charlie carrying a petrified seven-year-old-me out of Disneyland's Space Mountain, how he'd told Goofy to "go to hell" when the oversized mascot had tried to cheer me up and only scared me in the process. I told them about growing up as a teen with a cop for a dad, how he'd called every week to make sure all the boys were treating me right (even though there never had been any boys to speak of until I came to Forks), even though he'd lived a thousand miles away and couldn't _really_ do anything. We'd never said much, but we'd said enough—the meaningful stuff—and I remembered it all.

"My dad loved nature," I told them. "I've got all the pictures of him holding up big fish to prove it. He liked the silence of the wild, how everything—even the brutal stuff—can make sense out there." I searched for Billy's face in the crowd and said, "He loved La Push for that reason, I think. You know, he always stayed in Forks, but I think it was La Push that really kept him here. Maybe we've got Indian blood, and we just don't know it.

"Some of my fondest memories of my father include quiet afternoons of him fishing on the reservation. Then all of us would sit around a fire, eating whatever had been caught that day. I used to think the fire made him look really young." I laughed a little. "Until recently, I think I always believed my dad was old. He wasn't. He too young for all of this."

I remembered his face then, the orange glow on his smooth features, the wind tousling his dark brown hair—the hair I'd gotten from his genes. One memory stood out the most. It had been a Saturday, and we'd spent the whole day at La Push. Jacob and I were dating then, sitting side by side on a log, holding hands. Harry Clearwater cracked a joke that had made my father roll his eyes and bare a white-toothed grin.

What was the joke Harry told?

I kept speaking, but my mind was elsewhere.

What joke had made my father grin like that?

_Dentists. Something about dentists._

"I don't understand why my dad's time had to be now," I said aloud, against tightness in my throat.

Finally, I remembered the joke.

_"What did Dracula say after his appointment with the town dentist?" Eyes crinkled at the corners, Harry looked at each of us; some of the boys groaned, having heard this one before. "Fangs very much!" He'd nudged Sue playfully, but she didn't seem to find it funny._

And just like that, I stammered over my words, and then couldn't speak anymore, because I remembered more than Harry Clearwater's joke. I remembered the scary story that had been told around the fire that night. Would I have remembered if Jacob hadn't put it in my mind to think on these things?

It was a story about Quileute men who turned into wolves—werewolves, but not exactly werewolves, because it wasn't the moon they reacted to. They responded to their enemies, their fellow predators. It was a story about their one enemy, an enemy they referred to as the cold ones—cold, because they were lifeless, heartless, ruthless. It was a story about a tenuous treaty from the early 1900s, an agreement between the Quileutes and the one "civilized" clan of the cold ones the tribe had met, a barely kept peace between mythical beings. I'd thought it was a scary story, a mythological tall-tale.

But now I knew. I knew it, like a part of me had always known it. I felt an echo of the cold breath from my dreams on the back of my neck. It raised all my fine hairs.

Cold body. Cold skin. Cold one.

Vampire. _Vampire_.

I looked at Carlisle Cullen, who sat in his fine grey suit and black woolen coat, his arm around Esme. I'd never known a more civilized man.

_Not a man._

And Edward, in the back, staring at me with furrowed brows. Not a man. A thing. A creature.

_Vampire._

People were staring at me, fidgeting uncomfortably, murmuring. I'd been quiet for too long, but I couldn't speak. Oh, God, I couldn't finish. Because I was overwhelmed and furious and afraid and unsure of whether I should fight or take flight.

_Because I knew._ Jacob was right. The Quileutes _did_ hide it right under your nose. So did the Cullens. What better place to hide the biggest secret ever than in the one place you can't and wouldn't even think to look?

"I'm sorry," I croaked out and looked to Pastor Weber. He leapt forward to take over and awkwardly close the ceremony with a prayer from Psalms.

Numb, I returned to Renée's side. I thought I might throw up or faint or scream, but I just stood, just bowed my head and said "amen" when the time came. So much was going on inside of me, but on the outside I was shutting down.

"Are you okay, baby?" Renée asked as she put an arm around my waist. "What happened?"

"I—" I couldn't tell her. No one would believe me. After all, _vampire_ was one of the things I'd been so _sure_ wasn't right, couldn't be right. I'd put it in my _Definitely Not_ column. Who would believe in vampires? Carlisle had stitched up my bloody wounds. I'd seen them eat food; I'd tasted garlic on Edward's mouth after dinner. They'd all been out during the day. Where were the coffins, the crypts?

What did they _really_ eat? Dizziness swept through me.

"Bella!" Renée grabbed hold of my arm, and I realized she was holding me up.

_I'm fainting. Fuck, I'm fainting._

Was she safe here? Was anyone at all safe? The Cullens were holding a dinner at their house directly after the funeral. People were headed to their cars, intending to go there. Many had probably come to the funeral, just to go to the mysterious Cullens' mansion afterward.

_To go into the lion's den_, I thought.

But how could I think that about the Cullens, about Edward? They were _good_. Weren't they?

Renée called out, "Dr. Cullen!"

I jerked away from her, a burst of adrenaline forcing me to stay upright. "No!" I snapped, drawing the attention of several people nearby. "_No_, you need to leave. Right now."

"Baby, what's going on? What's wrong?"

The Cullens were coming back toward us with their usual grace. Edward was nowhere to be seen. I needed to talk to him—or should I? Renée needed to leave first. This was my life, not hers. I couldn't have her in danger. Was she in danger? What was happening? I felt dizzy again.

_I'm going to be sick, faint._

_No._

_Not yet._

"I just want you gone," I said, knowing the only way she'd leave was if I was cruel. I hated saying these words just twenty feet away from my father's casket. It was a betrayal. "You have no right to be here. You _shouldn't_ be here."

"Of course I should be here."

"No, I shouldn't have invited you. You weren't here when it counted. You can't just come and go as you please." How many times had I thought saying these words would make me feel good? They didn't now.

Renée's eyes filled with tears. "I know. I'm so sorry. I regret not coming sooner."

"It's too late now!" Now I was crying and sweating and shaking. "Just go! I don't want you here. Leave me alone."

Carlisle came to stand beside me, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter?"

"_Renée_ needs to go home early," I said and tried to put anger behind my words. It wasn't easy when I was so upset, when all I was saying was only a half-truth at best, when a—a _monster_ was standing beside me.

_Is he a monster? I don't believe that, do I?_

But this was _real_. It wasn't speculation anymore. Was it?

"Why don't we have a talk about this at our place?" Esme suggested while discretely handing Renée a tissue. "I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding."

"There's no misunderstanding," I said. "I'm seeing everything clearly now."

Alice looked at me with wide, gold eyes. "I can't believe it…" she murmured. "That dog broke the treaty!"

"What?" Renée asked, confused.

If I'd had any doubts left, they vanished then. _Dog_. So the Quileutes _were_ werewolves—or just Sam and his gang—_Jacob_? Had I never dated _anyone_ normal?

"I'll drive Renée to her hotel," Esme offered.

"No!" I grabbed my mother's arm and said to her, "Have Angela and Lauren take you to Port Angeles."

"Bella, don't do this. I never meant for things to happen this way."

"Just _go_."

She stared at me for a moment, and I did my best to keep my face hard and unforgiving, then she leaned forward and gave my cheek a kiss. "All right, baby. I'll go. I love you. Please know that at least."

I couldn't say it back, not if I was going to keep up this façade. I watched her sagging shoulders as she caught up with Angela and Lauren, who both looked over at me in surprise and maybe a little disappointment.

"Bella, dear," Esme said, touching my hand.

I snatched it away. "Don't _Bella, dear_ me." I looked at all three of them and was completely unsure of what I should be feeling. I wasn't running, at least. Not yet. "So is it true?" I snapped, while wondering why I thought monsters would tell me anything but lies. They were all liars—chronic ones. "Jacob Black knows the truth?"

They consulted each other with silent looks.

"I didn't see this coming…" Alice said to Carlisle and Esme. "I'm sorry."

I asked again. "_Does he know the truth_?"

Alice looked at me, and she seemed helpless and frustrated. "Yeah, he would know."

Those words were enough.

"Stay away from me," I demanded, unsure of whether they'd heed my words.

I took off running, not caring that I was causing a scene as I pushed past people.

At first I thought I was running from the Cullens, but I wasn't running from them. I was running toward Edward. I didn't even know _why_, but I _had_ to confront him. It was a driving force in me that turned all my fear and uncertainty into red hot anger. I was possessed by it. Even if it meant I would _die_, I had to do this.

I saw Renée being led by Lauren and Angela to the right out of the cemetery; the Quileutes were walking out with them. I caught sight of Edward's hair among a line of people headed left.

I went left.

"Edward!" I shouted as I stumbled down the gravel-covered, hilly entrance of the cemetery. Renée and Jacob looked back at me, but for only a moment. They both knew, in their own way, that I'd made my choice.

Edward didn't turn around as he slapped a hat on the top of his head. He pretended he didn't hear me. I _knew_ he could hear me. He had amazing hearing. Inhuman hearing.

_A vampire's hearing._

I chased him, and he pretended not to notice, but that cost him, because it meant he also couldn't run away in response. I caught up to him and grabbed hold of his arm. It was hard as rock, and for the first time since I'd met him, it was _not_ reassuring.

"Don't act like you don't hear me, Edward Masen."

People all around were looking at us. There was the sound of _ding-ding-ding_ as cars with their keys in the ignition were left open, so owners could stand halfway out of their vehicles to watch the scene unfold. Some small town people are shameless.

"Edward, I _know_ now. You don't have to tell me. Someone else beat you to it." I don't know why I was egging him on, but I couldn't control it. I wanted him to react.

He didn't turn around, kept walking toward—I realized—his car, which was parked far away from all the others. "I've gathered that you found out," he replied, his voice tight.

I stopped following him. "And you haven't got anything to say about it?"

"_Not here_," he said, and his voice was a growl that crawled up my spine and reminded me that I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself into.

Still, I said, "Then where?"

He unlocked his car. "Get in."

"With you?" I asked. The question—a stupid one—came out all squeaky, somewhere between afraid and surprised.

"No one else is driving, so I suppose so." He sounded as furious as parts of me felt.

I stilled beside the passenger's door, feeling more than a little strange. It was the first time he'd never opened my door for me. "Why? Where are you taking me?" _Why am I considering going_?

He turned to get into the car, and I finally saw his face. His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "Afraid _now_, are we?"

"No." I sounded unsure. "But where are you taking me?"

"Someplace we can talk," he said. "Someplace where I can _undo_ what that fucking mutt has done."

"Mutt or not, he just told me the truth," I said defensively, "which is more than I can say for—"

"For me," he interrupted, his face softening with the words. "Bella, would you believe me if I said I'd planned to tell you the truth tomorrow?"

"No," I whispered.

Jaw set, he nodded.

Though I remembered his gentleness as he made love to me, the music he composed that warmed my soul, I also remembered bruises and distrust, and my anger still simmered beneath all of that. How much of him was a monster? How much of him was a man? What did any of that even mean?

I wanted to ask, _Is this it? Are you going to kill me now that I know?_

He must have read it in my face, because his softness turned to cold steel; his wrath returned. He snatched the hat off of his head, crushing its crisp shape in his hand, and threw it into the car; his hair stood up wildly. "I could have killed you long ago, Isabella," he snarled. "By God or luck, I didn't. Now get in the car. We aren't talking anymore about this here."

Shaking, I sunk down to the passenger's seat. My legs burned from running. Blistered, my feet hurt in the heels I'd clumsily run in. My nerves were shot, though I was still filled with grief and skepticism and anger. And I was in a car with a vampire. By choice.


	24. Drawn Out, Stitched Up

**_Author's Notes (June 13, 2011):_**_ Thanks to **duskwatcher2153**, **GreatChemistry** (for 'setting' me straight, lulz) and **smexy4smarties**. Finally, to **Aleeab4u**: feel better soon!_

**_Chapter pic:_**_ Nada. :(_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm24-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 24: DRAWN OUT, STITCHED UP**

* * *

_"He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone,_  
_by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly_  
_in a hostile environment where only the strong survive."_

_From "The Call of the Wild" by Jack London_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
The engine purred as Edward sped down the highway, pushing the needle of the speedometer farther and farther to the right until I couldn't bear to look out at the blurred world. We were headed toward Port Angeles. I wondered if we'd passed Angela's car along the way. We were passing everyone, even around sharp curves and over double yellow lines. My dad would have been so pissed.

Edward didn't say anything or take his eyes off the road, but I saw the muscles in his jaw working and felt the tension in his body—in mine, too. A storm was brewing between us, and I didn't know how we'd survive it, if we could or should. For all I wanted to face this head on, my body wanted to take cover. I wanted to curl up and sleep and pretend that this was all a bad dream, that there was no such thing as vampires or werewolves or anything else like them—shit, were there _other_ creatures?

I gripped the sides of my seat to survive sharp turns and keep myself from fidgeting. If _one more thing_ fell out of place, I'd break. At least my parents would be spared whatever mess I was getting myself into, which was really a more positive way of thinking, _You're on your own, Bella Swan._

We slowed and made a sharp turn, and I recognized the back road that led to Edward's house. Ferns pattered—_tick, tack, clunk_—against the side of the car. We kicked up mud and washed out gravel.

"We're going to _your_ place?" I asked in alarm. "Shouldn't we be doing this in more neutral territory?"

"Do you want answers or not?" he snapped, showing white teeth.

I saw no fangs.

My anger flared again. I could be just as snappy. "No, _of course not_. I _want_ to be left in the dark, like always. I just _love_ it."

"Your sarcasm is highly unbecoming right now."

"Is it as unbecoming as lying to someone all the time?"

The car jerked to such a hard stop at the front of Edward's house that my seatbelt locked when I lunged forward. I fell back with a thump, breath rushing out of my lungs.

"As if I could have told you while Charlie was sick! When was the right time for me tell you? There's never been a right time for this! What the _fuck_ was I supposed to do, Bella?" I flinched as he slammed his hand down on the center console.

It wasn't your typical outburst.

He'd smashed _through_ the console surface, creating a leather and plastic crater the size of his hand; he was buried up to half of his forearm in pure car. We stared at it, as if neither of us could believe that it'd happened.

I broke the silence with my usual eloquence. "Holy shit."

"I'm sorry. That was…uncalled for," he murmured while extricating himself from the destruction. Bits of plastic rained down.

I imagined Edward trying to explain the damage to the car company for repair. _"Well, you see, I'm a vampire, and I was angry at my human girlfriend. Does the warranty cover this?"_

It was such a ridiculous idea and situation that I began to laugh—deep, belly laughs that left me gasping for air. All my anger melted, giving way to something else.

It was so simple. _This_ _wasn't happening_. This couldn't be my life, because this wasn't real. I'd never met a vampire, because, like ghosts, there was no such thing as vampires. I'd never kissed one. I'd never had sex—_great_ sex!—with one. Edward wasn't a vampire. Creatures like vampires didn't exist, no matter how much the conspiracy nutjobs on the internet wanted them to.

I was just crazy.

There was plenty of evidence for my mental deterioration: being convinced someone wasn't human, keeping paranoid lists about supernatural creatures, thinking I saw things that didn't happen—like golden eyes that turned black or hands that went through fancy car consoles.

How long had this been going on? Since I'd had my car accident and "seen" the red-haired woman? Was that when it had started, when I was seventeen?

Maybe this meant that the last six months of my life weren't real at all. Maybe the funeral hadn't happened. Maybe Charlie was in Forks, alive and well, waiting for me to come visit him and watch one of his county ballgames. _Forks' Finest_. I had the shirt for the game. Maybe I was still in school. Maybe I was drugged up in some institution. Was I dreaming or hallucinating? Was I getting better or worse?

Either way, I decided, the world was normal. Occam's Razor, the simplest truth. _I_ was the abnormal variable in this equation. It was me. Somehow, someway, this was all in my head. I needed help—therapy, medication. People could live normally with mental illness these days, right? The first step is realizing you have a problem.

"Your heart…" Edward's voice sounded distant and frightened, but I couldn't reply.

Then I had a thought that was crippling, that nearly turned my laughter to tears.

Did Edward even _exist_? Could he exist without _also_ being a vampire? I didn't think I could survive finding out he didn't exist. Maybe I didn't want help, then. Maybe I wanted to play out this fantasy, where I loved a beautiful boy, and he loved me. I didn't care if it meant there were vampires. If it was fantasy, did it matter?

It was hard to breathe. Was my heart was trying to jump out of my chest?

A car door opened. My seatbelt was unclipped and then I was lifted by hard, strong limbs. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around Edward's neck and stared up at the cloudy sky, which seemed to be spinning. Cold mist fell on my skin.

"Is this happening?" I heard myself ask.

"Yes."

"How can I be sure?"

"Shh," Edward hushed, his cool breath fanning across my face. The scent was sweet and soothing, and I rested against him, trying to ignore the nervous twitch of my muscles.

Lucky whimpered as we entered the house and followed us into the living room, where Edward placed me on the sofa. Then he was moving—faster than I could process.

Shivering, as if I was suffering from a fever, I closed my eyes, tried to calm myself to no avail. A blanket was placed over me, tucked around my sides, tight, warm, comforting, and then Edward was on the phone, speaking in a clipped voice; his words ran together in his urgency.

I couldn't quite grasp what was going on, other than life seemed so bleak and confusing. _Everything's falling apart. I'm losing everything and everyone. Nothing makes sense. Will anything _ever_ make sense again?_ Lucky hopped up on the couch and lay over my feet. His warmth was reassuring.

I thought I might throw up, but I didn't. Instead, my body eventually surrendered, and I fell asleep.

* * *

It was pitch black outside when I woke, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of lamps. Other than the sound of Lucky's gentle snoring, the house was quiet.

The world didn't make much more sense, but I wasn't shaking anymore, and I didn't think I'd be dry heaving any time soon. My thoughts had quieted; my heart had stopped racing. I was alive, mostly myself, and in Edward's house.

It was hot. Squirming, I pushed the blanket down to where it only covered my legs.

Edward cleared his throat, and I only then noticed him at the junction between the living room and kitchen. How long had he been there?

Judging by the softness of his features, his anger had cooled. He moved with deliberate slowness toward me, a plate in one hand, a glass of orange juice in the other. "Carlisle says you need to eat."

I sat up, and he handed me a plate with cheese and crackers and small slices of ham. The food was meticulously arranged in three triangular sections. "Thank you," I whispered. I was so hungry.

Awakened by the scent of food, Lucky sniffed the air, but didn't come too close before grunting and putting his head back down.

Edward placed the orange juice on a side table. "I'm sorry it's not more. I don't have much on hand. You haven't been here in nearly two weeks. I haven't…had need to shop." He glanced at me.

_Because he doesn't like to eat this kind of food, _a little voice whispered in my head.

The slice of ham I'd been eating got stuck in my throat, but I forced it down with a hard swallow. With Edward sitting in a nearby chair, I ate in silence for a few minutes, all too aware that I was the only one eating, and that I was being watched. But the food was good, no matter how simple, and so I ate anyway. I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

I studied the round cracker in my hand, refusing to look at him. His beauty could be distracting, and if there was one thing I wanted instead of starting this conversation, but shouldn't have, it was a distraction. "This is happening," I said. I knew it was, but I still felt the need to say it.

A pause, then, "Yes."

"I'm not crazy then."

"That's debatable. You _are_ here."

"Be serious," I said.

"I am being serious."

I put the cracker down, but still stared at it against the backdrop of the white plate. I didn't think Edward had picked this china, what with the black, floral trim; it was a little effeminate. Esme's doing, I thought. "You know what I mean," I said. "If this is all real, _I'm_ not the crazy thing here."

"This is real," he confirmed again.

I sucked in a breath. "Okay. And you're a—a v-vampire."

"Is the word rather difficult to say when you know my kind exists?" he asked, wry amusement coloring his tone. "But, yes, I am."

I let this fact wash over me again.

Vampires existed.

The Cullens were vampires—always had been.

Edward Masen was a vampire.

It was a little easier hearing it a second time, and from Edward himself, but it was still such an unbelievable truth. It was a lot to take in on a good day, and this, the day of my father's burial, was _not_ a good day for me. I pushed thoughts of Charlie aside and finally looked up at Edward.

He was so beautiful, like a figure from a painting that could make you weep. He sat with his back rigidly straight, which had a way of making him appear regal, and his long fingers curled like bird talons over his kneecaps. He'd been pulling at his hair. He was wild and raw and cut from another cloth. It was hard to believe I'd ever thought he was a man.

"If we're gonna do this, I want the whole truth," I said, once I was able to pull myself from his enthralling appearance. "No more lies. You—_we_—can't treat each other this way anymore."

"I know." He looked down at the floor. "I'll tell you anything you want to know." He grimaced. "I'm sure I have my work cut out for me, undoing whatever Jacob Black has told you."

"He didn't really tell me anything." He hadn't seemed _able_ to.

He looked at me. "Then how do you know? Alice thought—"

"Jacob just helped me remember something I'd forgotten."

It was almost comical that I'd known the truth the whole time. I hadn't thought about the scary stories around the bonfires at La Push in years. What reason had I to? I'd thought La Push and Jacob were behind me. But somewhere, deep down, I maybe had always known the truth; my dreams hadn't been normal for a long time. I now had an idea of what kind of scary monster lurked in them. I pulled the blanket closer.

"The Quileutes have a story about you guys," I explained. "I heard it years ago, but until today, I thought it was just some fireside legend."

Edward's brows rose. "I see. And what does this story say?"

"I can't remember everything…" I picked at blanket lint. I thought back on what I could remember of a tale about an ancient attack on La Push, a bloody massacre. It was a story about a woman who'd saved her husband by stabbing herself, and therefore attracting the cold one—the vampire—with her own blood. It was the ultimate sacrifice, giving your life for another. At eighteen, I'd thought that was romantic.

I didn't romanticize death these days.

"It wasn't a happy story," I said.

"I imagine not. They got that right, at least." He stared at the floor again, his shoulders slumping.

"Edward?" I sighed. "Look at me."

He turned his head.

"I'm not running," I said. It was true. I'd run _to_ him, which maybe was crazy, but curiosity and the pull he had on me had been too strong to ignore. "I'm upset—I was really upset earlier—"

"I made you have a _panic attack_."

"Is that what it was?"

He nodded.

"It's passed, though. I'm okay now, I think." Physically, at least.

"Are you?" he scoffed. "You're sitting in a room with a vampire. That's not exactly healthy living."

"Oh, come on. It's not like I'm sitting with just _any_…vampire." Blushing, I added, "And it's not like I haven't done a lot more than sit with you."

His lips quirked with a hint of smugness before turning downward again.

"I want to know you," I said more gently. "I can't promise I won't be upset sometimes, but I think you mean well—you've been there for me, sometimes when no one else was—and I mean well, too. I just want to understand… I'm sorry about how I was earlier."

"Bella, you had every right to feel what you felt."

"Yeah, but I should hear what you have to say. I shouldn't…jump to conclusions." It was hard not to, when my brain kept digging up everything from old Dracula movies, to Count Chocula commercials. _Not helpful_.

Edward leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little. "You're really staying," he said in amazement.

I gave him a weak smile and a shrug. Swans are constant, stubborn birds. I would see this through to an end. I hoped it'd be a happy one.

"Let's start from the top," I said. "Name?"

He was Edward Anthony Masen, born in 1901, in Chicago, Illinois, to Edward and Elizabeth Masen, a lawyer and sometime-piano-teacher, respectively. He'd seen his parents die in the 1918 flu pandemic and had been—in his words—"unlucky enough" to be turned into a vampire in 1921; he didn't know who his "maker" was, a fact which obviously angered him. He was forever frozen at age twenty.

_I've been dating an old guy_.

"Does my age bother you?" he asked.

"Uh, it's hard to put it into perspective with you looking…the way you do. It maybe explains a lot, though."

"What do you mean?"

"You're sometimes very old-fashioned," I said.

To my surprise, he smiled, as if I'd paid him a compliment. "Am I?"

"You hold doors open for me."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly the only man with good manners, Bella."

I thought it was debatable whether that was "good manners," but I didn't say anything. I should probably just be thankful that he didn't argue about my right to vote.

Still smiling, he shrugged. "Ask me something else," he challenged, sounding eager now.

"Coffins and crypts?" I ventured.

"Neither." He paused for a moment, then added, "I can't sleep."

"I'd wondered if you maybe slept differently… But not at all?"

"No. My body has no need for rest. I don't lose energy from being awake for long periods of time."

I didn't ask where his energy _did_ come from. I thought I already knew, and I wasn't sure I could handle that truth yet.

"What have you been doing while I've been asleep?"

Edward looked embarrassed enough by this question that I felt my face grow warm on his behalf. "Watching you," he admitted.

"_Watching me?_ Do what?"

"Sleep, of course."

"That seems…"

"Inappropriate, I know," he said, frowning. "Forgive me. I'll stop."

"I was thinking more along the lines of boring." And maybe creepy. I'd give him that.

He shook his head. "No—no, it's not. Not at all. Life is fascinating; to watch yours up close has been…a gift I will always cherish."

Well, when he put it that way…

His grin was lopsided. "You talk in your sleep, you know."

It's always the silly things that stand out. He'd just admitted to watching me while I slept, and all I could think was, _Oh, Jesus, what has he heard me say?_ "Oh, no. Don't tell me that."

"You do." Edward chuckled. "Would it help if I said it's highly enjoyable to listen to you?"

"It's embarrassing is what it is," I corrected. "Let's move on." We could deal with his nocturnal hobby some other time.

A lot more than coffins and crypts turned out to be myth. Garlic, crosses and holy water couldn't do a damn thing to a vampire. Neither could the sun harm them, though Edward said they did have a reaction to it. Fire could do serious damage, but it was only fatal to the head, the brain, which was still the epicenter of life—or the half alive(?). Anything injured could heal in time and with…food, provided the head wasn't burned. Time was one thing immortals had plenty of. I tried not to think about the food supply or how this meant a head could essentially stay alive without a body.

All of it meant he could live forever, while I grew old and grey.

Vampires were equipped with better senses and supernatural speed and strength. I'd been aware of some of Edward's advanced senses from the way he'd heard me at times when he shouldn't have, or how he could sniff out the most random things in the kitchen pantry. Other things I hadn't known, like that Edward and the Cullens' flawless complexions were a byproduct of the venom that had long ago replaced blood in their veins. The venom was also what altered their scent into something sweet and comforting—something perfect to draw us humans in for the kill. Were we so easy to fool?

_Probably_.

As far as predators went, vampires were more than capable of chowing down on us, when and where and how they pleased, and we weren't even aware of their existence. I knew how bugs felt now—small and easily squashed.

Edward shifted in his seat, turning his body more in my direction. "Bella, you're not asking me the real question."

I picked at my blanket lint. I _was_ curious, and I _needed_ to know the truth, but I was chicken, too. Moments passed in silence.

"You want to know if I drink blood," he said.

My heart jumped in my chest, and this time I knew he could hear it, could smell my adrenaline and sweat. Was it disgusting or appealing? Which would I prefer to be? I'd never been so hung up on my own body scent before.

"Well… _Don't_ you?" I asked. "That's not a myth, is it?" I wanted it to be, if only to dislodge an image of Edward drinking thick, red blood from a wine goblet.

"It's not a myth, no."

I didn't want to think about the _flavor _of blood, but my mind conjured it from all the times I'd split my lip and tasted its salty, metallic tang. In the past, before Charlie had gotten sick, which had a way of putting "gross" things into perspective, blood had freaked me out. Now, I didn't shudder or feel faint, and I remembered that the flavor was mostly neutral in my mouth. I couldn't imagine _wanting_ it, though.

"How do you decide?" I asked.

"Decide?"

"Who to take." Who to_ kill_, but I couldn't bring myself to say that ugly word.

"Ah," he murmured. "You want to know if I'm at all _humane_, if you've been sleeping with a murderer and the enemy of your kind."

"I didn't say that." But the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention.

"It was implied." He shrugged a shoulder, and I stared at it, wondering if that too was part of his human performance. "Make no mistake, I am a murderer, Bella. Many of my actions have been deplorable, and I can't take them back. I'm no saint—one of the furthest things from it, in all likelihood." He smirked darkly as he regarded me. "Listen to your heart fly. You believe me. _Good_. You're finally seeing me for what I am, but it's not what you expected, is it? I tried to warn you as best I could."

It _wasn't_ what I'd expected—not in a million years—but in a way, I _got it_ now. Sort of. Edward felt _guilty_, and that told me a lot about the man he was. I understood a little bit of the self-loathing, the anguish, the insecurity and inhuman beauty that made up Edward Masen. Puzzle pieces slid into place, sending chills down my spine—and making my heart hurt.

"I don't feed from humans anymore," Edward commented, and I tried to hold back my wince over the word _feed_, even as I felt myself mostly relax.

More puzzle pieces slid into place. "The names in your folders…"

He looked surprised, then sad. "Innocents," he said, nodding, his voice reverent. "People whose time shouldn't have ended at my hands." He licked his lips at the memory, and I pretended not to see or know what had him licking his lips. I was sure he didn't even realize he'd done it.

There were sixty-six numbered binders on his bookshelves, each filled with names and sheet music. I gazed at them with new understanding. But even with this new understanding, I didn't know what I should feel.

Appalled? Sure. Hundreds of lives had been taken, and I sat in the room with the killer. I'd eaten his cheese and crackers. I didn't plan to tell on him, either. Did that make me an accomplice, in the eyes of the law? Did the law—human law—apply here? What would my father think of Edward if he knew all of this? What would he think of _me_, sitting here, now knowingly, listening and attempting to understand? He'd given me cans of pepper spray to protect me from less dangerous men than Edward.

But Edward wasn't _just_ a man, and my dad was dead. I'd wrestle with issues of morality on my own.

I thought I felt sad—sad for the people Edward had killed, sad for their families and friends, and sad for him, as he sat staring at the bookshelves like he was before God on Judgment Day. These people—strangers?—haunted him. Maybe they should. He was atoning. Maybe it was right for him to.

"How long have you been—" Clean? Denying your nature? A…_vegetarian_?

He understood my question. "I haven't fed from humans in twenty-one years," he answered, watching me closely.

"Not at all?"

"No, though I won't suggest I haven't had cravings."

"That's…" I thought of going twenty-one years—my whole life!—without cheeseburgers or pizza. People did it—the carb and calorie watchers, the diabetics—but I knew it wasn't easy. People relapsed. I said what you say to smokers and alcoholics who've managed to drop the bad habit. "That's amazing."

"I had a reason to change," he said. I wondered what the reason was, but I didn't think I was ready to hear details of his dark past. Knowing the people in the folders were _dead_ was enough for me to deal with.

"So you can eat regular food instead?" I doubted it, but I could hope.

He smiled faintly. "I suppose you would think that, but no, animal blood is the only substitute I've found that sustains my altered biology—and I've looked for others, believe me."

"But you've eaten dinner with me…"

"Human food, yes." He laughed and somehow managed to sound wistful at the same time. "The human façade is an intricate one, Bella. I've slept, because that's what humans do. I've worn glasses and taken bathroom breaks and coughed, because it was necessary for the illusion. I've eaten, because you needed to see me eat. I've lied to you many times over, and you've easily accepted the lies, because that's what humans do."

He wanted me to be angry with him, to be offended, but he was angry with himself. All these things he'd done to keep his secret, because—I knew—he'd feared what it would mean to tell me. What would it have been like if I'd known the truth from the start, if I'd been around Jacob or Billy more to remember the Quileute story? It felt like it would have been easier to accept all this earlier on, but who was to say? I probably wouldn't have believed any of it.

"I used to think I was good at lying," Edward scoffed.

"You were good enough," I sighed.

I reached out and put a hand on Lucky's head; he was asleep again and didn't wake as I ran my fingers through his scruffy hair. "If animal blood's your substitute, why do you have Lucky?"

"I would _never_ harm him," Edward snarled.

I looked up in surprise. "I didn't mean to suggest you would. I just… All the vampire stuff I know about—I mean, it must be hard… Does he make you hungry?" I did wince then.

Edward stared at me for a minute, as if trying to gauge how I'd handle what he was about to say. "Sometimes," he said in a quiet voice. "He's hurt himself on occasion. Being around his blood isn't comfortable."

"How do you do it?"

"Mind over matter."

"I'm sorry, Edward."

"You're sorry? What do _you_ have to apologize for?"

"I'm just thinking that if Lucky's blood is hard to be around—and animals are a _substitute_—what's it like to be with me?" Feeling sad, I twisted my hands in the blanket as I remembered our first meetings, of how Edward had shown up in unlikely places. It wasn't kismet, I thought now. I'd been stalked—and not because I was a pretty face—_would that have been better_? "You've thought about my blood."

"_Don't_," he growled. "You're more than that to me."

"I know, but not at first," I said, shaking my head and hearing the truth in my words. They should have been frightening, but more than anything, they hurt.

He confirmed this a minute later when he said, "You can't imagine how incredible your scent is. When we met, it was _everything_. You drove me mad. But then I got to know you."

I blushed. "It's okay," I said, not really knowing if it was. "I know it's not that way now."

"This must be disgusting to you."

"It's not." Strangely, it wasn't, not as much as it would have been even an hour before. I wasn't even frightened. I didn't exactly know what I was.

Edward's lips curled in disapproval. "How can it _not_ disgust you?"

"You've got to eat. I get that. It's not your fault that you are the way you are… You don't even know who made you this way."

A low growl rumbled in the back of Edward's throat. "He'd be dead by now if I did know."

"But you're here. And he's wherever he is. How you live isn't that different from how I do. We all live off something else. That's the food chain, right? And you, well, you say you don't…eat humans. I appreciate that—what with being one and all."

"Yes, well, the knowledge that I don't feed from humans shouldn't make you complacent. Mistakes happen, Bella." He looked at me apologetically. "I can never forget that you're in danger when you're with me. I did once, but you know only a hint of what can happen if I lose control. It could have been much worse."

"That wasn't a normal night," I argued. "We were both high strung." The pain of our mistakes had lasted longer than the bruises, anyway. And still…a part of me that I didn't understand longed for that feeling of unbridled power.

"Now that you know the whole truth, you shouldn't forget what I'm capable of."

"You've warned me plenty," I said, smiling a little. "I just haven't always listened."

Every time he'd warned me, I'd chosen him and my feelings. I was trying so hard to think with my head now, not only my heart, but it's hard to be logical when you're dealing with the supernatural or with a lover. Edward was both.

"Have you and the Cullens known each other for a long time?" I asked after silence had stretched for too long again.

Edward snorted. "I met Alice the day I went to you in Forks for the first time. You wouldn't believe how surprised I was. And worried. I thought you were being hunted."

_Hunted_. I shuddered.

"All I could imagine," he continued in a quiet voice, "was finding your body in the woods—cold and lifeless, blood on the leaves around your head. I'd be too late to save you. Before I knew better, I was frightened of the risk the Cullens posed, even if I didn't understand why at the time." He looked at me, and I thought he was on the verge of crying. "I can't lose you."

I rose from the sofa, letting the blanket slip from my lap, where it was half-trapped beneath Lucky's body. The room spun for a moment, but I managed to stay standing. With somewhat faltering steps, I went to Edward, who was watching me with wide, glassy eyes.

I wanted him to see that I wasn't afraid. I wasn't fully accepting everything yet, but I wasn't going anywhere, either. A week ago, I'd felt like the lion tamer. Now I felt like a lamb, caught in the lion's gaze. Lion or not, with the truth out, with explanations, I didn't feel threatened at all, only sad and filled with questions that would take days to ask. But I wasn't afraid of him, and I needed him to know that.

I took his face in my hands. He was cool to the touch, even in the warm house. "I'm stronger than you think, Edward. You haven't lost me," I whispered. "I'm still here." I rubbed my thumbs under his glassy eyes, expecting the dampness of tears, but his porcelain cheeks were dry and smooth.

"I can't cry."

"Can't?"

"Venom's too thick for tear ducts. It only gathers." He blinked several times in annoyance. "It can be irritating, though."

I ran my hands through his hair soothingly.

"I would lose my humanity if I lost you, Bella."

"You haven't lost me," I said again.

He searched my face. "May I touch you?"

I nodded, and then I was pulled forward and embraced in hard arms that were somehow still comforting. He rested the side of his face on my stomach, and I held him to me for all I was worth. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

"Stay with me," he said, his voice uncharacteristically broken.

"I'm not going anywhere." The truth was out now. I'd deal with it somehow.

"No, Bella." He pulled away enough to look up at me. "Not only tonight. For _all_ nights. Let me make you like me—at least one day—so you'll always be mine."

"I already like you," I said, my brows coming together in confusion. "Wait… Make me…_like you_? Do you mean you want to turn me into a—a vampire?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. "Not tonight—I shouldn't even be asking tonight, after all that's happened, but you want my honesty and intentions—so not tonight, but one day. When you're ready. If you could ever want that. Bella, I want you with me."

"To live forever? You could do that?" I asked, and he nodded.

The room felt cold all of a sudden, airless, like space. Something bitter twisted in my gut, something vile.

"How do you do it?"

"Upon entrance into your bloodstream, venom begins the transformation. You'll become like me. The change is… It's painful, but it doesn't last." His lips twisted in distaste.

"Would I ever get sick?" I asked tensely.

He shook his head, smiling. "This life—if it can be called that—does have some perks. Bacteria and viruses have no desire to feed on creatures without a pulse." His smile turned to a frown. "That has to sound odd. You get used to not having one, I promise…"

"What about cancer? Could I get cancer and die?"

At this, Edward froze, his arms locked around my waist.

He wasn't comforting now. His embrace was a cage.

"Bella…"

"No…" I shoved at his shoulders, but he didn't budge an inch.

"You have to understand—"

"You let my father die," I accused, "when you could have saved him."

"No," he said, shaking his head frantically. "Bella, it's not like that. He wouldn't have wanted this life."

"And _I_ would?" I spat. "It wasn't good enough for my dad, but it's good enough for me? What the fuck does that say?" I pulled at his arms. "Let go of me, dammit."

He released me at once, and I stumbled a few feet away.

"Your father was ready to die."

"Only because he had to be! He had nothing else he could do! He _had _to accept it!"

Lucky let out a keening whine and hopped down from the couch to leave the room.

Edward stood up. "I couldn't just change him; neither could the Cullens. It's not that simple. We have to let people die. It's the natural order of things. We can't save everyone. I'm not even sure if it _is_ saving!"

"You _chose_ not to save Charlie. Admit it."

"Carlisle's a doctor, Bella. What do you think _he_ does? Do you think he turns every human whose luck has run out, that it's some Get Out of Death Free card? It doesn't work that way. You don't know it, but you wouldn't even _want_ it to work that way."

"Then explain to me how it works. How can you possibly choose?"

"We have to. The world can't be dominated by our kind."

Nausea swept through me. "Because we're the food source, right?"

"That's not—"

"Maybe not for you," I interrupted, "but for others? I can't imagine most of you…abstain." _How many vampires are out there?_ I wondered. "You need us," I sneered.

He frowned.

"Why on earth would you choose me, when he had no hope? Why am I so damn worthy? What good have I done? I've done _nothing_ with my life. I don't even have a degree! My dad was a _good man_." There was really no point to this argument. Charlie couldn't be saved _now_, but I couldn't help wanting to understand. "Why would you choose me over him, if you're going to choose anyone at all?"

Edward's hands balled into fists at the side of his thighs. "I have my reasons."

"Oh, _your reasons_. So you're God to do as you please?" I taunted. "You get to decide who lives and who dies?"

"I told you it's not that simple."

"I thought you were going to be honest with me."

He pursed his lips, and I watched the muscles in his jaw work once more, as if he was chewing on his frustration.

"Why me?" I asked again.

Scowling, he searched my face. "You're not ready for this discussion."

"I'm not some weak, little girl. Just tell it to me straight." I laughed. "It's not like I haven't handled everything _else_ you've said tonight. I don't know how it is for vampires, but murder isn't something humans tend to just sweep under the rug, so I think I deserve some credit here. Whatever it is—"

"You're my mate."

My stomach knotted up. "Your _what_?" But I'd heard him just fine and didn't like how fast my heart was beating in reply. Maybe he was right. I wasn't ready for this.

"My mate," he said, louder. Letting his shoulders and hands relax, he stepped toward me, where I seemed to be glued to the floor. "You were made for me," he continued. "Everything about you draws me in—your blood, your mind, your body."

"I don't…" I felt dizzy. "I don't really understand."

"My kind mates for life."

"But you live forever," I whispered.

His lips quirked briefly. "It's a long life, but the divorce rate is nonexistent." He reached out and took one of my hands, ran his fingertips along mine. "I would never change someone without their knowledge, Bella, and as you don't think I'm God, I don't think that either; it wasn't my place to choose for your father.

"You, however, I happen to be very selfish about. If I can cheat your death and God with your permission, I will. I've argued with myself over this, more than you'll ever know—you _deserve_ better than I am or can give; I know that—but I want you and want you to want me. You would be my first and my only. I haven't been picking and choosing humans. I've only chosen you, and that's the way of it, the way it will _always_ be."

I stood still, staring at him, my mouth slightly open, listening to the echo of his words. He was mine. I knew it in my bones. Maybe I'd always known. But did I get any say as to whether I was his? Did I _want_ a say? Could relationships actually work for centuries, for _millennia_?

My parents' relationship had lasted only a few years.

Why was I even thinking about it?

_Because you're stupid and you want him._

Edward's hand curled around mine a little tighter. "Say something."

"It's too much. I need time to think."

Frowning, Edward nodded and released my fingers. "I understand. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, I'm glad you told me." _I think_. "I should go home."

"Stay here."

"Edward…"

"I'll leave the house if you want."

"That's… No."

"It's three in the morning. Just go to bed, Bella." He smiled a little. "Besides, you know I don't need to sleep. I'll be down here if you need me."

* * *

Neither of us knew what to do with the secrets that had come out. We didn't talk much after the day of Charlie's funeral. Edward spent most of his time at the piano or outdoors with Lucky, and my days were all about ignoring text messages from Renée, seeing Lauren off to New York, and spending hours at Charlie's, where I continued to clear out the many items a man collects after twenty years of living in a house.

I found a shoebox of love letters in the back of my father's closet. Charlie and Renée had said things I'd never known, made their own promises of forever. The people in those letters didn't even seem like my parents.

I cried over their lost youth and entwined joy, because there would always be a childish part of me that wished their marriage had worked out. I cried, too, because I realized I might have something in Edward that they had never had with each other. Forever really was a possibility for me, if I was to believe everything Edward had told me.

I just had to accept everything. The good and the bad.

It was frightening and exciting, but I kept quiet and thought. If Edward had eternity, like he said he did, he could give me time to mull over his confessions of love and death and dieting.

_Does it matter that he's killed innocent people, if he's reformed? Don't be stupid. Of course it matters. Do I want to be part of this? How do I handle this?_

I never thought of leaving Edward. I thought lots of things, but that wasn't one of them, and I always returned to his home by nightfall, even though we weren't exactly on speaking terms. When it was dark, he left the porch light on to guide me. With no words spoken, the fridge was restocked.

_If I accept this, how do I help him heal himself and those he's hurt? How do I forgive him for not saving my dad?_

As the hours and days passed, though, I began to think that Edward was right about Charlie not wanting to be a part of the vampire world, even the little I understood of it.

My father had been a more progressive thinker than a lot of people in Forks knew. He'd never bought into the Quileute's prejudices against the Cullens. He'd treated men and women and all races with equal respect. He may have hunted and fished, but he'd hated men murdering other men. He hadn't believed in war or the death penalty.

Vampirism would have made him a killer, and judging by Edward's words, even if he'd been able to commit to the _slightly_ less horrifying lifestyle of animal blood, he'd still have craved humans. He'd have hated himself for that.

_If I do this—if I become like him—will I hate myself for that?_

Eventually, I let go of my anger. Charlie was gone, and I was mostly at peace with that by now, even if it still hurt. That Edward and the Cullens hadn't "saved" him was just one more thing to let go of. It was childish to think that could have been a cure-all, anyway.

On the fourth day of our standoff, I lay in the warmth of Edward's bed, staring out the large, windowed wall that looked out over his backyard. I could see Edward where he was outside, lying on his back on the ground, Lucky sprawled out beside him.

Edward seemed so out of reach. I missed him, even though I saw him every day. I missed making love and _laughing_. Was it wrong to want a man who wasn't quite a man? _The heart wants what it wants_, Renée would say, but then my mother hadn't always known what she was talking about.

My heart wanted Edward. When I thought of him, I didn't think of him as a vampire, though I knew that was what he was. I thought of him as the man who'd hummed lullabies to me, given me a dragonfly fossil and held my hand while my father died. He was a man who'd put my father's memory to music and kissed my tears away.

_Man. Vampire. Partner. Lover. Mate_.

Labels, sure, but they had meaning. I didn't like the last word—it seemed to suggest I had no choice in the matter—but it felt like it fit, whether I liked it or not. Then again, if I didn't have a choice, neither did Edward; there was a strange sort of comfort in that. We were in this together, knee-deep and scared as hell.

_Can I really do this?_

I needed to talk to him.

Pulling on jeans and one of Edward's sweatshirts, I went downstairs. I slipped on my shoes and pulled the blanket from the sofa around my shoulders to venture outside. It was the middle of December and freezing in the morning.

"Edward?" I called as I made my way down patio steps. "Can we talk?"

He didn't turn to me, but lifted an arm up, his hand open and inviting. He'd thought to help me down to sit, but I was feeling bold and stepped one foot over his hips to straddle his lap. The distance between us, both physically and metaphorically, melted as soon as we made contact. It was like coming home.

Edward's brows rose high on his forehead as he sat up and bent his knees behind me. His hands found their way to my hips.

"Not that I'm complaining about the seating arrangement, but what's brought this on?"

"I've been thinking a lot…"

"That much has been obvious. It's all over your face." He rubbed his thumbs along my sides, through the fleece blanket and sweatshirt. "What are your thoughts?"

I took a deep breath. "I forgive you for not saving Charlie. I'm…not sure there was even anything to forgive. You were right," I sighed. "I wish you hadn't been, but you were. I just wish you'd told me, but I get why you didn't. He really wouldn't have wanted the life you or the Cullens could give him."

"If there'd been any other way to save him, we would have."

"I know that," I whispered.

"He didn't want this life, but what of you?" he asked quietly. "Do you think you could ever want it—to be with me, in spite of all I've done?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, willing my answer to be one that would satisfy him. I knew I'd do just about anything for him—maybe even give my life for his (though I had no idea how _that_ scenario could ever occur)—but could I live forever for him? I was only twenty-one, young and inexperienced. What did I know of forever to make that sort of decision?

And I'd need to die in the process.

Dying for him in the heat of the moment, when he needed me? I could that. I thought I had it in me to save someone. But calculating my own death, embracing pain for promises I was only beginning to understand? It wasn't easy for me to think about it, having watched Charlie die in pain.

"Edward… I love you, more than you can know. After Jacob, I didn't think I'd trust anyone for a long time—and I didn't until you came along. You and I have been through so much in just a few months, and we've both stuck to it, and I'm glad, but…I don't know the answer to everything yet," I whispered, and I thought I might cry. "I'm sorry."

He smiled, but it was forced. "It's all right. I understand. I wouldn't choose this life either, had I been given the choice."

"I'd never have met you then…"

"Don't you think that might have been for the best?"

"I don't think that at all."

Feeling panicked, I brought my hands up to hold his face. "I'm not saying _no_, Edward. Okay? I'm _not_. And I'm _glad_ you're here, now, just the way you are. I just…it's huge, what you're asking of me. I've never faced anything like it before. I can't even begin to understand eternity or what it means. I need to know more before I can make this kind of decision."

He nodded. "But you'll think about it?"

"Of course I will." What he didn't know was that it was _all_ I was thinking about. I could cheat death, the one sure enemy I had. I could have love forever. But I was afraid, too—still afraid this wasn't real, afraid that it _was_.

Tucking hair behind my ear, Edward said, "I'll just have to show you that you want forever with me. In my day, I'd have courted you, Miss Swan, and you wouldn't have wanted to say no to any proposal I'd have made." He grinned at my blush. "I haven't been doing that so well, I fear. I haven't had much practice playing that kind of human."

"Trust me when I say you're pretty smooth." I was a puddle around him half the time. "But I just want you to be who you are," I said, and he looked down, as if he was shy. It would take time to re-learn him, with all this new knowledge. We both knew that. "Besides," I said with a shrug, "we aren't in 1918 that you have to _court_ me. I'm happy with a burger and fries from McDonald's."

He grimaced, and I laughed—a real laugh. "I'm never taking you to eat there again."

He pulled me a little closer, and my legs tightened around his hips. I narrowly—very narrowly—resisted the urge to grind against him. It didn't matter. He knew what I was feeling, because I saw his eyes darken. His fingers dug into my flesh a little more.

We were so close…

And then I was pressing my mouth to his. He didn't respond at first, but I pressed harder, looking for that point I knew he had, the one where he melted just a little—or a lot. It was dangerous—now I knew just _how_ dangerous—but I didn't care. I knew I'd found it when he deepened the kiss and buried his hands in my hair. I'd missed his hunger.

"You truly love a monster?" he teased once we'd pulled away, but there was uncertainty behind his words.

I shook my head and kissed the corner of his mouth. "No, I love a man who's trying."

Trying was all any of us could do, anyway.

* * *

I made right with the Cullens. It wasn't even that hard, and that was how I knew—all over again—that they were my family, no matter how weird that was. It kind of figured I'd fit in with vampires better than my own kind.

Secrets continued to come out.

_"What do you _mean_ you can read minds?" I'd asked as we sat in the Cullens' family room._

_"I can't read yours," Edward said quickly, sensing my discomfort. "Everyone else's, but not yours."_

_Alice grinned and added, "It drives him absolutely bonkers. My gift works on you, though!"_

_"Your gift?" I looked around me. "Do all of you have special abilities?"_

_Carlisle smiled and shook his head. "We all have certain traits that manifest themselves more obviously in this life, only some more so than others, like Edward and Alice's gifts."_

_"What can you do?" I asked Alice._

_She waggled her fingers. "See the future."_

I hadn't believed her until she'd accurately predicted half a dozen things. Then I made them all promise to take a trip to Vegas with me one year.

Knowing the truth didn't make everything easy—sometimes it made life harder—but it was a start, and we were closer without lies coming between us. We sold Charlie's truck at a good price to one of the nurses who'd worked with Carlisle, and Esme—also known as Catherine Moore, licensed home inspector in the state of Washington—inspected the house for problems, of which it only had a few. It'd go on the market at the start of the year, to eventually become only a memory.

And I…I didn't know what I would be doing any time soon. I thought that was okay.

Life had a strange way of going on, even in the face of death and vampires.

Alice and I grew closer. Angela was busy with Ben and their upcoming wedding. Lauren was in New York. Charlie had passed away. The Quileutes were quiet, maybe figuring I was a lost cause at this point, which was fine by me.

I ended up spending time with Alice, partially to avoid the impossible questions I now faced in Edward's presence. It turned out we had a lot in common.

A week after Charlie's funeral, we were working in silence together in his kitchen, cleaning all the nooks and crannies. The refrigerator, table and chairs had been removed. Alice was doing the stovetop and oven. I was on my hands and knees, cleaning the floor. Edward had wanted to help, but I'd told him Alice and I had it covered.

"Didn't Edward tell you we're super fast?" Alice asked. "I could do this whole kitchen in half the time it'd take you to clean the floor."

I shook my head, half in dismissal, half at how crazy my life was now. _I'm cleaning the kitchen with a vampire._ This was the new normal. "Thanks, but I want to take my time with it. _Human_ time."

"Suit yourself." Alice shrugged and went back to cleaning the stovetop—at human speed. "Any reason you're wanting to work so slowly?"

"Is it really that slow?"

"Are snails slow?"

I snorted. "Sorry. You don't have to stay, you know. I mean, I'm happy to have your company, but if it's annoying doing things this way, I understand."

"It doesn't bother me," she said, and I could tell she was smiling, even though I wasn't looking at her. "It's good to do things slowly sometimes."

"Yeah." I sighed as I pulled my bucket of water with me to the next section of the floor. "So much has happened in the last month."

"Things haven't really gone back to the way they were, have they?"

"Can things _ever_ be normal again?" I countered. Everything had changed. My whole _world_ had changed.

"Maybe it can't be what it was—_if_ that even was normal," Alice said. "Maybe it can be something better."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Don't you think it'd help if you and Edward worked things out?"

"We have…" I argued half-heartedly. "Sort of." We kissed sometimes. We knew we loved each other. But it was awkward. Edward so wanted me to commit to forever, and I didn't know how to yet.

I stopped scrubbing the floor and looked at Alice as I sat back on my heels. She'd come dressed for cleaning, in old jeans and a ratty t-shirt; I was surprised she even owned anything like it. "Have you seen something about Edward and me?" I asked. "Like, _seen_ it, seen it?"

"What I see is that you're indecisive." Her nose scrunched up as she encountered a stubborn food stain. "Your future is hazy when you're like that. There are too many possibilities. I think fate halfway hangs on our decisions. Some stuff is bound to happen, of course."

"That sucks." If she'd just tell me what to do, life would be so easy! "Wait, though, so you _do_ see some things? Like what?"

Alice pursed her lips. "I try not to interfere with the future."

"Yeah, right," I laughed.

"I _don't_," she said seriously as she gave me a sharp look. She dropped her rag to the stovetop and moved to sit on the floor beside me. "The future's bigger than I am," she explained. "I don't want to be the one responsible for screwing it up. Small things…sure, I tinker. With the big stuff, it's scary…a delicate balance; every little decision matters. I'm very careful and only interfere when I feel it's necessary."

"But you _do_ try to change things, right?"

Alice's lips lifted in a sad smile as she glanced around the kitchen. "I tried to save your dad, Bella."

My fingers tightened around the wet cloth in my hand. "You what?"

"It wasn't a coincidence that Carlisle was the one to find Charlie when he fainted at the police department this summer."

"You orchestrated that?"

"I tried. If Carlisle hadn't gone to him, Charlie was going to wake up and think he'd just fallen asleep at his desk. He wasn't going to see a doctor at all. I'd thought that maybe our getting involved—making sure he got chemotherapy earlier—would change the outcome. There were so many variables, but I had to try. I knew how much he meant to you."

I wiped tears from my eyes with the back of my wrist. "Thank you, Alice. For trying." It meant more than she'd ever know.

"Sometimes trying isn't good enough." She looked worried.

I sniffed, smelling pine-scented cleaner. "What is it?"

She shook her head.

"You can tell me. I won't breathe a word of it to anybody," I promised.

She smiled a little. "You won't, will you? Well, this is definitely interfering with the future, but a lot's riding on you and Edward—on you especially right now." She frowned. "Maybe it's right for you to know."

"I can handle it," I said, willing her to tell all.

"Okay. There are two main paths I've seen." She waved a hand. "A lot of little others, too, but two main ones. In the first, I see you and Edward becoming a part of my family. You're happy. You're"—she glanced at me nervously—"one of us. In the other, you're alone."

"Alone?" The word makes me feel cold. "How does that happen?"

"I'm not sure… I wish I knew. So much depends on the decisions you guys would make along the way, and I only get little glimpses of things that I have to decipher as best I can. You're older, though, in the vision. In your thirties, I think. You're pretty," she said. "You'd age well, like Charlie and Renée."

"But be alone. Without Edward." _The last thing I could ever want. _I frowned.

Of course, how could I be with Edward, if I remained a human? I'd get old and wrinkly. People would talk about my too-young boyfriend. And Edward surely wouldn't want to be with me like that…

"Where is Edward in that scenario?"

"He wouldn't be like he is now," she said.

"Like he is now? You mean…" _No… _"He goes back to human blood?"

She nodded. "It wouldn't be good for him. Human blood consumes who he is. It's that way for all of us, but for him in particular, he goes to a very dark place."

"I don't want that," I said. "How do I keep it from happening?" I still knew very little about Edward's past, but I knew the look he got when he sat at his piano and opened those black folders. I didn't want him to find more reasons to feel tormented.

"You're the only thing keeping him from that future. It's _your_ decision that all of this rides on."

I let that sink in.

_"I would lose my humanity if I lost you, Bella."_

People's _lives_ depended on my decision. I had the power to make or break a man's will.

"It's hard to love a man with a dark past, I know," Alice said, reaching out to squeeze my arm.

It wasn't loving him that was hard. That was easy. It was making the jump, taking the leap of faith, that was the hard part. Could I really escape death by—essentially—dying? Could I have love that lasted, unlike my parents'? "It's overwhelming…"

"Do you remember Jasper?" she asked, out of nowhere.

"Of course I do."

As if anyone could forget one of the Cullen "children." They weren't Carlisle and Esme's children, adopted or otherwise—I knew that now—but thinking back on them from high school, it was still how I saw them: the four pale-faced Cullen kids sitting together at their own, exclusive table in the cafeteria, barely touching their food.

They'd often been the talk of Forks High—the children who seemed to be more than just siblings. Adopted or not, in small town Forks, that was more than a little taboo. Tall, blond Jasper Hale had loved Alice Cullen, and hulking Emmett Cullen and Jasper's blond-haired supermodel of a twin, Rosalie Hale, had been an item, too. They were the eerie, aloof and beautiful family we'd all secretly envied and tried to dissect.

No one had ever guessed they were vampires.

"I'd thought you two maybe weren't together since the others left for Alaska," I said hesitantly.

"We're together," Alice laughed. "Jasper's my husband."

"Oh! Emmett and Rosalie?" She nodded. "Wow, I guess it all makes sense now." I frowned then. "But why are you guys apart?"

"We won't be for much longer," she answered with a big smile that made her eyes squint at the corners. "Carlisle, Esme and I are going up there for Christmas. We leave in a few days. Esme told you, remember?"

"Oh, yeah…" Edward and I would be alone. I wouldn't have Christmas with Charlie. "That'll be—that'll be good."

"Jasper's a lot like Edward, you know," Alice said. "They've made similar mistakes, and their gifts made it hard for them to deal with those mistakes. Jasper can sense and project emotions. Every _mistake_ he made, he felt what they were feeling, just like Edward heard the thoughts of the people he took." She smiled sadly. "They need us, Bella." She shrugged. "We need them. That's how mating works."

"You make it sound nice," I sighed. Not scary at all.

"It _is_. Don't you think it'd be nice to be with your match, the one person in the world who _gets_ you?"

"Yeah," I said, "but it's so hard to believe it's real."

She grinned a little. "So you believe in vampires now, but not true love?"

I laughed. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

"_That,_ I know. But you love, Edward, right?"

"Yes," I answered easily, a smile pulling at my mouth.

"You two just need to learn how to be together again." Patting my leg, she stood up and returned to the stove. "You'll figure it out, Bella. And who knows? Maybe one day we'll be sisters."


	25. Peace and Spanners in the Works

**_Author's Notes (July 19, 2011):_**_ Thanks to **Aleeab4u**, **duskwatcher2153**, **GreatChemistry** and **smexy4smarties** for polishing this chapter and listening to me whine about life._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm25-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm25-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 25: PEACE AND SPANNERS IN THE WORKS**

* * *

_When I'm shamed and humbled in disgrace,_  
_I am yours, if you are mine._  
_When time decides it won't stop for me,_  
_When the hawks and vultures are circling,_  
_I am yours, if you are mine._

_"I Am Yours" by Tracy Chapman_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Something had transpired between Bella and Alice. I didn't know what, but when Bella returned from Forks, she came with more questions. And this time she wanted detailed answers.

"What was it like in the beginning?" she asked, pushing her dinner plate to the side. "When you woke up as a vampire?"

"The details are gory," I warned. "You just ate."

"I think I can handle it."

I studied her face from where I sat across from her at the kitchen table. She was being sincere, I knew, but it was difficult to reveal myself, as though I were peeling away bandages to reveal festering wounds. _Could_ she handle more of my past? Could I handle revealing it to her? But if she'd not run or screamed yet, especially after knowing I hadn't attempted to turn Charlie, she probably wouldn't. I had to remember that.

So I unearthed what I'd long ago tried to bury and told her the story of waking alone one early evening in a rundown Chicago warehouse. I'd woken to a fire in my throat far worse than the one I'd suffered during the Spanish Influenza and to a soundtrack of strange, one-sided conversations that had made no sense.

I'd been overwhelmed by everything, right down to the dried bloodstain on my neck—my own blood, though I'd not known it then—which I'd scratched off and licked from my fingernails without hesitation. I would have chewed my fingers off if I'd believed it would lead to more of that sweetness.

My clothes scratched at my skin like wool on a hot summer day. They smelled of sweat, which was both revolting and appetizing in ways I couldn't understand.

One thought pervaded my mind: _What's wrong with me?_

My bowels and bladder had emptied and stained my slacks. A smeared trail of my own waste could be seen from the open warehouse door to where I lay; I'd dragged myself to shelter at some point, though I had no recollection of it.

In truth, I had little recollection of anything that hadn't happened in the weeks before my change.

One thing I hadn't forgotten was that I was a carouser. I'd been such a drunk in my last years as a human that one of my first thoughts, hazy though it was, was that I must have passed out from overindulging, and my body had seen fit to right itself while I was unconscious. Of course, the body releases its contents in death, too, but I hadn't known I was dead—or undead, depending on one's views on vampirism. That realization had come later, upon discovering my heart lay silently in my chest.

I was an animal, reverting to the basic instincts of man, to less-than-man. I felt powerful and afraid, as if my body couldn't quite contain me. Either it would swallow me up or I'd take control of its strength and conquer the world. Nothing escaped my notice—no dust mote, no skittering beetle or smelly patch of mold. I saw—felt, smelled, heard—everything.

Like a mad man, I tore off my clothes and walked, filthy and naked, down alleys, feeling as alien as I undoubtedly looked. I was searching for _something_, smelling a thousand scents on the wind—dirt and oil and garbage and factory smoke and dust and damp concrete and something delightfully sweet—hearing voices, so many voices, turning around, and expecting to see people behind me. There was never anyone there. The conversations weren't spoken aloud. It'd taken me an hour to figure that out, and several more to believe the truth: I could read minds. By then, I'd run away to the outskirts of Chicago, past suburbs and into the wilderness.

But not before hearing that flutter, that thud and thump that was the sweetest music, one that—even now—I could not replicate on piano. It was a melody that sent tingles down my spine and made my muscles coil in excitement.

_Life._

Yes, I'd fled to the outskirts of Chicago, but not before listening to that music and smelling _that_ scent—_the_ scent—the one that would change me forever, even more than the blond-haired bastard who had turned me. He'd left me alone, afraid and _thirsty_. So thirsty.

Not that I'd needed him to guide me. Instinct told me what to do.

I took my first innocent on that cloudy, twelfth of August evening—a woman whose name I never knew, but I remembered her last thought, of the curly-haired toddler waiting for her at home with the nanny. I'd killed a woman, a wife, a mother, and while part of me had felt remorse, a much larger part had been thrilled by her pitiful struggle and—of course—the taste.

"It should have been me," I said to Bella. "She had a right to live." But I'd yielded to the monster, and she'd died with a mouth wide open in mid-scream, a mouth I'd covered with my hand. I'd shattered her jaw with my strength, snapped her spine in my eagerness. I'd chosen the path of least resistance and savored every drop, a demonic babe at a twisted breast. "My time should have been up, but instead…"

"She's not here and you are," Bella finished gently.

"I'm sorry." It was all I could say.

She drew in an uneven breath. "What happened after that?"

"For a while, I aimed to make amends for what I'd done," I explained. "It took time, but I learned how to use my ability to find humans who were planning to harm others."

"You saved people?" Bella said, her voice rising in surprise.

"Saved?" I scoffed. "Don't paint me in such a heroic light."

"But that's what you did if you went after bad people, right? It means you saved innocent people."

"Salvation through murder. That's a poetic idea," I said. "But, no, I don't believe I did much saving. That wasn't my intention, no matter what I told myself at the time. It was only that I felt less guilty in killing degenerates. It was about me, Bella; it wasn't about saving innocents or seeking justice."

"But you still saved people."

"It may appear that way, but in the long run, I didn't save anyone. Killing a man does something to you, as you might suspect. I became a monster by feeding off of monsters, and I did more damage than any of those criminals could have over time. They fed…a part of me that I don't like to think about."

"You are what you eat," Bella murmured, her eyes widening when she realized she'd said the words aloud.

I snorted a laugh. "Something like that. Don't misunderstand. I don't regret ending those who were out to harm others"—Bella's heart skipped a beat, and I gentled my voice—"but I convinced myself that I was doing mankind a great service. I felt that humanity _owed_ me. Arrogance and gluttony ensured my downfall, and in time there was little difference between myself and those I judged evil. When I stopped drinking human blood, I was more often feeding from innocents than criminals. _I_ am a criminal."

What a downfall it had been, to go from one pulsing vein to the next, until my existence was a continuous, bloody haze. The blood, the innocents I stole it from, coddled me and helped me forget that I was alone. As long as I was on the move, as long as I was hunting, I didn't have time to think about what I was doing or what I'd become. Until Renée crossed my path.

"So now you write music," Bella said, interrupting my thoughts.

I nodded once. "So now I write music."

She wanted to know more, and as she peeled away more of my bandages, I was surprised to find I _wanted_ her to know more. I'd begun to think no subject was taboo when she made a request that left me on edge.

She wanted to know my victims' stories.

I sat at my piano, playing "Sweet Hour of Prayer" in an effort to calm myself. It didn't work. I'd told Bella to choose a binder, that we'd begin with whatever she chose, but I didn't want to begin. I wanted to hide. I wanted to lie and tell her that I'd never killed anyone, that these weren't my victims' swan songs. Shame lay heavy in the pit of my belly. How could she love the monster behind the music, behind so much bloodshed?

She returned to my side with binder forty-one, which contained my murders from 1962. Twenty-three innocents—dead. Lives and families ruined. My doing.

"And you're sure you want to know all of this?" I asked as she sat beside me.

"I'm sure."

Her answer came easily and was free of judgment. I wasn't sure whether I should be selfishly grateful for her acceptance or concerned by her lack of ire and absent self-preservation.

Without further comment, Bella flipped the binder open to its table of contents and smacked it down in front of us, covering a cluttered mass of sheet music. My sins confronted me once more, from Alex Cho, who I'd killed in January of sixty-two, to Camille Jensen-Berg, who'd died on New Year's Eve. This binder was a work in progress; only seven of these innocents had swan songs composed for them. I sighed.

Bella ran a finger down the rows of names. "Have I heard any of their music?"

"You've heard Stacy's piece," I answered softly, remembering the pungent scent of chopped onions and hickory smoke. He'd been a cook in Michigan—underpaid, overworked, dog-tired. And delicious. I swallowed venom. Perfect recall meant I would never forget the way they tasted.

"And these are the dates that—" Bella glanced at me, unsure.

"That I killed them, yes." There was no sugarcoating murder.

Her heart stuttered.

"Why do you want this?" I asked, my voice rough. "It's not as if telling you the details or playing music brings them back. It doesn't change _anything_."

I'd learned as much long ago.

These wounds, self-inflicted as they were, weren't easy to reveal, even to Bella, even after so much else had come out. I'd played my music for her, but _no one_ had ever known the true stories behind individual pieces. What she asked for seemed like too much.

I didn't give her time to answer. "Must I tell you _everything_?" I asked bitterly. "Don't I get to keep any secrets?"

Bella didn't even blink at my outburst. She reached out and placed a warm hand on my forearm. "I just want to help."

"Help? How do you think you can _help_?"

She removed her hand and looked down at her lap. "I don't know. I just know this eats you up inside."

"It _should_, Bella. They're _dead_ because of me."

"I know, okay! You don't have to keep telling me."

"I only tell you because it's true."

"I know," she said again. "I just wish… You helped me with Dad and—"

"Your father's passing was and is a completely unrelated matter—a _natural_ matter."

"It's not that different. All these people… I know you've made terrible mistakes—I get it—but that's in the past now, and you're trying to do right. You're _grieving_ them. I hear it in your music."

"You confuse grief with guilt."

"You're _not_ bad. I don't believe that. Bad people don't do the things you do."

"You don't want to believe I'm evil—and I don't want you to—but maybe you're wrong, Bella. Have you considered that?"

_Why am I sabotaging myself?_

Of course, deep down, I knew.

I wanted her to have someone better than I was capable of being. I knew of a different way of existing now, but to show her this… How, _why_, would she ever choose me? When I set aside my feelings and thought solely of what was best for Bella, why would I ever _want _her to choose me? But she was my mate. I did want her, and I wanted her to choose me.

_I'm fucked._

"Edward? Let me help you."

I stared at her, wondering how on earth she thought she could help. What did she know of murder? Of bloodlust? Of loneliness and fear and boiling anger? Those were the things that simmered beneath the surface.

"Please," she whispered.

_She deserves to know. I know she does. _

Sparing no detail, I told her everything about the twenty-three people I'd killed in 1962.

I hated myself in the telling.

* * *

With the raw truth of a part of my past now in the open, I left Bella in the house and sought the coolness of the woods. After revealing so many things, there'd been too much heat in the four walls of my home—central heating to keep Bella warm, Bella and Lucky's body heat, and worst of all, the heat of my shame, a full-body blush I had no means of expressing but felt nonetheless. Bella assured me that knowing my dark secrets didn't change her feelings, but it did something to me.

I was naked to her, and I was unworthy, no matter what she believed.

When I thought of how foolishly I'd laid everything out to her, how I'd all but begged her to consider joining me in this existence, I was embarrassed. What right did I have to ask her for such things? Being what I was, what could I give her? Surely she saw me for what I was now.

I returned home some hours later to a dark house filled with the gentle tattoo of steady heartbeats. Lucky was curled up on the couch, his paws twitching in response to dreams, and Bella was asleep upstairs, her breathing easy. If only I could sleep.

On my way to the laundry room to pull off muddy jeans, I stopped short at my piano. Bella had left a sheet of staff paper tented upward to gain my attention. I opened it, taking a moment to smooth out the middle crease on the lid of the piano.

_Thank you for sharing yourself with me. It helps me understand._

_I love you. Nothing will ever change that._

I stared at the word _nothing_; she'd underlined it with three crooked lines.

Beneath her note were a series of scribbled verses, some crossed out, others left in three-versed stanzas. "Another Man's Land," the title of one of my pieces, was quoted at the top of what she'd written.

Soon, I realized what Bella had done. She had paired her words with my music.

They weren't just any words, either. Bella wrote true, raw words that, even more so than when I'd watched her write Charlie's eulogy, allowed me to catch a glimpse of her psyche.

These were words that saw through me, to the essence of who I was. Words that saw into the mind of my victim, as if she'd been with me as I'd drawn the blood from Josef Cerny's neck, as if she'd heard his weeping and felt him struggle.

Bella not only knew. Somehow, she _understood_.

An unnatural chill snaked down my spine, and I glanced over my shoulder to sniff the air. I was alone, but I didn't _feel_ alone. Bella's words made it seem as though Josef Cerny were standing right next to me.

I thought of Billy Black's story of the forlorn tribesman. Billy believed in that tale, in a death that led to one's transformation, where the spirit went on to exist elsewhere in nature. He was of a mind that a part of Charlie Swan would forever live along the waters of La Push, to gaze on Billy's children and grandchildren as a kind of spiritual godfather. Perhaps his ideas weren't so farfetched after all.

Bella had transformed the essence of Josef Cerny. A part of him lived on the eight-and-a-half by eleven sheet of staff paper I held.

_Free to rest,_

_Free to drift away…_

My shoulders sagged. There was a completeness found in these verses that I'd never come close to achieving with music alone. _This_ was a swan song. _This_ was penitence.

_Free._

Only peace and grace remained. _It's done_, I thought, both surprised and relieved. It felt as though Josef could rest in my music and Bella's words. And live. It was everything I'd attempted—and failed—to achieve on my own for twenty years.

Bella had said she would help me. I'd never supposed she actually could.

The staff paper slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor as I ran upstairs. I came to an abrupt halt at the side of my bed, where Bella was curled up in a ball beneath the covers. I knew I should let her sleep, but I couldn't control myself. The joy and relief were too much to bear.

"Bella," I whispered, shaking her shoulder as gently I could. "Bella, wake up."

She stirred and blinked up at me. I saw myself reflected, ghostlike, on the glassy darkness of her eyes. "Hmm?"

I moved too fast, touching her shoulders, her hair, the uneven flesh of the scar on her face. Her heart thundered, but she wasn't afraid of my sudden appearance. "You wrote for Josef." She shook her head, confused; I'd spoken too quickly. "You wrote for Josef," I repeated, slower this time.

Her cheeks turned rosy. "You read it?"

I nodded, smiling.

"I know it needs work. Maybe I shouldn't have even written it. It's your music. I shouldn't have—"

"Bella, it's _amazing_."

Her eyes widened. "You think so? You like it?"

"You've done what I never could. It's—well, it's perfect. It's as if you were there with me. I don't know how you did it. You understand exactly who Josef was." By extension, that meant she understood me.

So much for my being the mind-reader in this relationship.

"It's not that good," she protested. "It's your music. It always inspires me." She held my gaze as she tried and failed to hold back a yawn.

"You should sleep," I said. "I shouldn't have woken you."

"It's okay. I'm glad you did."

I pulled the covers up to her chin. "Rest. I'll—"

"Stay with me."

"I don't sleep," I reminded her, glancing at her sideways.

"I know, but…" She pushed the bed covers down again. "I miss you."

"You're sure?"

She nodded.

I didn't have to be invited twice. I yanked my jeans down, not caring that they lay muddy on the floor, and slid in beside her. She curled toward me, a flame bending forward from the fire. This heat, I didn't mind at all.

We lay facing each other, small smiles on our faces. A bridge of excitement lay between us. Something profound had happened.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She entwined our fingers. "I won't let you get lost, either, you know."

I'd never felt so alive as when I kissed her then.

* * *

The first day of winter passed without notice. Somehow, though the odds had seemed against us, Bella and I found one another in music and words.

Per some unspoken agreement, we began at the beginning, opening the first of my binders from the early twenties. I told her my victims' stories; played any completed piece she wanted to hear, as many times as she requested; and she wrote poetic fragments as they came to her. Some works we finished, while others we abandoned to return to at a later time.

Bella possessed a rare talent that could perhaps be attributed to my music—as she insisted she'd never written this way before—but I thought her own, compassionate nature was what lay behind her lyricism. She'd been influenced by the many things she'd read before Charlie was ill, and all the quotes from her journal, but her words were her own, and they blended well with my music.

We were partners.

As we grew closer through our joint efforts, so my elation grew. Bella said nothing of joining me in this existence, and though I knew I shouldn't entertain such fantasies, I imagined them nonetheless. Her voice, sweet but gently off-key now, would caress the notes of any tune if she became a vampire. I thought I could spend eternity this way, with my fingers on the keys and hers penning verses, the gentle hum of our voices harmonizing.

Our work was interrupted when the Cullens visited us one morning on their way to Alaska, bearing Christmas well wishes and a homemade apple pie for Bella, even though she'd insisted none of us cook for her anymore.

I struggled to be hospitable, annoyed that I'd only found out about their Alaskan trip at the last minute. As a mind reader, I'd never handled the unknown very well, often perceiving it as a threat. To discover that the Cullens and I were not the only vampires to survive on animal blood, that they had supposed "relatives" that they'd never bothered to tell me about, wasn't something I easily accepted. I'd found out only an hour prior to their impromptu visit. During a phone call.

Their behavior seemed suspicious, even more so when I found their thoughts revealed nothing—seemed to even be guarded, perhaps—but I reprimanded myself and didn't disrespect them by voicing my doubts, though Alice likely saw me consider doing so several times. I had no good reason to distrust the Cullens anymore, not when they were willing to break treaties for Bella and me. I had to remember that I was no longer a nomad. Thinking and behaving as though the Cullens were my territorial enemies was unacceptable.

Still, I was glad to see them leave, if for no other reason than it meant I would have more time with Bella. Things were going well; I didn't want to ruin that.

But humans don't possess the same level of focus that vampires do. Bella needed rest and variation, even in her routines. Her creativity couldn't be forced forever, and on the third day of our working together, she put down her pen and paper and said to me, "Let's do something else."

The bubble we'd been living in finally burst, but it seemed all right. There were five swan songs completed now, and we weren't the same people we'd been going into the bubble. We were better.

* * *

"I feel ridiculous," Bella mumbled behind the scarf I'd wrapped around the lower half of her face.

"I don't want you to be cold." I slipped a newly-purchased mitten over her hand.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm dying of heatstroke in here."

"Oh, you're perfectly fine. We'll be outside in a minute." I pulled a beanie cap over her head, making sure to tug the knitted fabric over the tops of her ears. I stood back to look at her and frowned. "I should have gotten you earmuffs."

"I would _not_ wear earmuffs. This is already overkill."

"Your opinion may change after you see where I'm taking you."

"And just where _are_ you taking me—Antarctica?"

I grinned at her crabbiness. "Where we're going"—she looked hopeful as I paused and leaned forward—"is a surprise."

Her face fell. "I hate surprises. Have you forgotten the frog?"

"_That_ was a momentary lapse in judgment," I said lightly. Directing her hands to my shoulders, I bent down and tied her boot laces. Her coat was too thick for her to easily do it herself.

"There," I breathed, glancing at her thighs before rising to my feet.

"Can we go now?" She made a _puh-puh_ sound as she tried to dislodge lint from her tongue.

Holding back a laugh, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the back door. "Winter awaits."

"But you're barefoot!"

I looked down at my feet with her. "The cold doesn't bother me like it does you." I shrugged. "Anyhow, it's easy to wear through shoes in the forest."

"Wear _through_ shoes? How?"

"You'll see."

I closed the door on Lucky's whimper and the scrape of his foot against the locked dog door. He wanted to come, but we were going too far away, and I hated when he got lost in the woods, trailing behind my faster speeds. I tapped the door in reply. "We'll be back soon, pup."

Helping an overdressed Bella down slippery patio steps proved impossible, so to her great dismay, I carried her to the grass. Late, or early, as it was—five in the morning—frost covered everything, so that my feet crunched upon the earth. I could feel each icy blade of grass shatter under my weight.

"Can you put me down?"

Her face was close to mine, rosy and smelling of her woolen scarf and the cinnamon of the apple cider I'd given her before dressing her for this outing.

I kissed the exposed sliver of her cheek and set her down. "We're only changing positions."

"Huh?" Her eyes dipped below my waist, then back to my face. She blushed.

Sighing shakily, I turned around and bent at the knees. "Piggy-back ride."

"What?" She snorted a laugh. "No way. I haven't done that since I was a kid and slipped off Renée's back. I was bruised for a week. I already feel foolish enough being out here dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man when you've only got a sweatshirt on—and no shoes!"

I glanced at her over my shoulder. "You look fine—a little puffy, granted, but fine. I'd rather you be warm. And I won't let you fall."

"Is this part of your surprise?"

"Yes."

"I don't like it."

"Humor me."

She let out a loud sigh, but waddled forward and put her arms around my neck. She hopped and half scrabbled up my back. I grabbed her legs and locked her heels together at my front and tried not to think about how good it felt having her wrapped around me again.

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Very," I replied as I walked into the woods, all the while wishing that the cold more reliably dowsed the flame of desire.

Such thoughts wouldn't do. Bella had already seemed eager to renew the physical side of our relationship in the last night. I was eager, too, which she'd have known had I let her anywhere near my lower half, but I'd carefully rebuffed her advances.

I wouldn't endanger her. If we could ever make love again, it would be after careful consideration. I would be well-fed. We would take everything slowly. She would not push me for more, and I _would_ control myself. Not that the thought of sliding in and out of her inspired control.

"What is it you always say to me?" Bella asked. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I lied, "I was thinking about how nice it is tonight."

_Nice save._

"It's too dark for me. Can you see?"

"I see just fine." I nodded my chin toward the darkness ahead. "You'll be able to see more as we get to higher ground."

"That'll take forever."

I chuckled. "You think?"

"You're carrying me."

"You weigh next to nothing," I said, squeezing her thighs. They were fuller than when we'd first met. "So you want to go faster?"

At my words, her heart thudded against my back, making it feel as though it were my own, beating again. "You're going to run?"

I could smell her excitement as I said, "Yes. Hold on tight."

She renewed her grip. "Okay, I'm ready."

"You trust me?"

She took a breath. "With my life."

Happiness propelled me as I leapt into the dark. I wove through knotted trees, headed toward higher altitudes. Bella's heart continued to race, and I could hear and feel the warm rush of her breath against my neck.

"Are you all right?" I called in a loud enough voice that she'd hear over the wind.

She laughed a brilliant, bright laugh, one of pure, adrenaline-tinged bliss. "Can you go faster?"

I could, and she squealed as I doubled speed, bounding across sprawling creeks and fallen trees. We were free.

A half hour later, just as I was beginning to feel tremors of tiredness ripple through Bella's thighs and arms, I slowed us to a stop in the clearing. It was one I liked to visit after hunting, for the moon always seemed close beneath this patch of sky.

The clearing was halved by a rushing stream, a tributary of nearby Lake Mills. A mushy sludge of ice kissed its shore, and the water shimmered in grey-blue tones, mirroring the surrounding trees and the sky. Snow flurried to the ground.

"It's beautiful here," Bella said. "Much brighter than in the woods, too."

"I like it, too." Carefully, I bent to let her slide off my back.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as her knees buckled. I caught her around her waist before she fell.

"Careful," I hissed, and she looked up at me sheepishly.

"Sorry." She touched my chest. "I'm okay now."

"You love speed," I said, shaking my head as I led her over to a large boulder. I lifted her up on it.

"It was fun," she replied, yanking down the scarf to expose her mouth. Smiling, she looked up at the waning moon. Snow flurries landed on her cap and face, only to melt. "Thanks for bringing me here. You're…faster than I thought you'd be."

I hopped up on the boulder beside her and closed my fingers over one of her mitten-covered hands. "I'm glad you're not afraid of me. Even now that you know everything."

Excepting my history with Renée. I'd not told her about that. Did I plan to? I wasn't sure.

Bella shook her head. "I don't think I've ever been _afraid_, exactly. Not for myself. Confused or worried, yeah—unnerved—but not afraid."

"Are you confused or worried now?"

"No," she answered, bumping me with her shoulder.

"I thought you'd like the sky from here, but it's a little cloudy," I said with a frown. "I could take you higher," I added, looking toward mountains in the distance.

"I'm happy here."

I relaxed. I was, too.

We lay back on the boulder, and I pointed out the stars that my eyes could see through the thick clouds. I pulled her close and guided her hand through the shape of the common constellations. "That one's Orion," I said, tangling our fingers.

Through a patchwork of thick clouds, we watched the sky lighten into the beginnings of an overcast Christmas Eve. There'd be no demonstrations of what happened to me in the sun on this day, but I was content.

I nudged Bella awake from where she'd fallen asleep on my shoulder. She'd begun to shiver. "Let's get you home."

Cradling her along my front this time, I jogged lightly. She quaked against the wind and curled into me as much as she could. I hoped she wouldn't catch cold.

Influenza. Pneumonia. Any number of illnesses that could kill a human. I'd change her if it came down to it. With her permission. I needed her permission.

She interrupted my thoughts as she spoke between chattering teeth. "Will you take me running again sometime?"

"I would run all over creation with you if you asked it."

"Maybe I'll run _with_ you one day," she whispered, and it took great effort not to stumble.

* * *

Bella woke late in the afternoon, and I eagerly went to her at the bottom of the stairs. Her skin was warm again. No signs of sniffles. I kissed her forehead. Temperature was normal. Satisfied that she was healthy, I launched into my introduction.

"I know you said I shouldn't get you anything for Christmas, but it's not Christmas quite yet and—"

"Edward…" She sounded exasperated.

"Bella." I laughed. "Close your eyes. I promise it's nothing extravagant." I covered her eyes with my hands, and guided her toward the kitchen.

I'd made Bella all of her favorite foods, the ones I'd learned at last. There was ravioli, garlic bread and layered chocolate cake that claimed to be better than sex, though I highly doubted its lofty claim. I'd considered making her a Bloody Mary—the irony of which wasn't lost on me, what with having killed eight Marys in the past—but I didn't think it would go well with everything else.

It all smelled unappetizing, but I couldn't stop smiling.

"You made pasta?" She sniffed the air.

"Perhaps." I removed my hands from her eyes. "Take a look."

Bella's lips parted in surprise. The candles I'd lit cast golden light across her cheekbones and made the few freckles that dusted her skin stand out, golden brown. "You didn't have to do this," she whispered.

"No, but I like taking care of you. I always will. Whether you let me for eighty years or a million." A million years with Bella sounded just about right.

She looked away from the food-laden table to gaze at me. Tears were in her eyes. "Thank you." She sat at the chair I pulled out for her. "I used to make a big dinner for Charlie and me on Christmas Eve. It was how we celebrated Christmas."

I knew that from Charlie's memories, which had inspired this, but I only smiled in response.

There were leftovers, as I'd known there would be, but she'd made quite a dent in the chocolate cake, which did in fact elicit several moans.

"I'll do the dishes," she said, quickly grabbing the plate I'd been about to pick up. "You should…go hunt. Have your own dinner." She bit at her lip. "Your eyes are dark."

"It's Christmas Eve. I'm not leaving you."

"But you did all this for me. You shouldn't go hungry when I'm stuffed."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not."

I was. She knew it, too.

She knew me.

"Just go, Edward." She leaned up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. "I'll be up when you get back."

* * *

I returned a few hours later, well fed on deer—and bloodstained. I slipped quietly through the backdoor, trying to pinpoint where Bella was in the house so I could avoid her. I didn't want her to see me like this.

Lucky yipped when he saw me.

"Shut it, mutt," I hissed, baring my teeth at him. He grunted and left the room.

It turned out Bella was upstairs, along with all of my clothes and the only full bath in the house.

_I didn't plan this well._

If I ran, I thought she wouldn't see me. But then nothing could have prepared me for what I was running toward, what I would see in my bedroom. I stopped in the doorway to stare.

Bella's back was turned to me as she removed the last of her clothes. She slipped out of her underwear, revealing milky curves and a birthmark only my eyes could see. The brazier fell to the floor in a black tangle, landing atop jeans and a sweater the color of fresh blood.

My thirst was sated, but my throat was dry. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to, not that I had any desire to move—unless it was to move closer.

Her pulse changed. Her breathing quickened. When she turned around, she wasn't surprised to see me. The pink blush that painted her cheeks also colored her breasts.

I couldn't stop staring. It wasn't that I'd forgotten what she looked like—there was no way I could forget—but to see her like this again, to feel the heat rolling off of her onto me, into me, through me…

She crossed her arms over her chest, but then she let them fall to her sides. "You're home," she said softly.

"You're naked."

Her blush darkened. "You need a bath."

My desire fled in an instant as I realized I was standing before her in my hunting clothes. "Christ. I'm sorry." I sped to my closet and reached for something new to wear.

"It's okay," she said, following me.

"No, it's not."

"Edward, stop."

I turned around, my eyes wide. "You shouldn't have to see me this way."

"It's okay."

I could smell the adrenaline in her veins. Nervousness, fear. I shook my head. "Just because you accept the truth doesn't mean you should have to face it like this."

She swallowed hard and stepped closer. Her heart pounded like a drum. "It's just a little blood," she said, staring at my face. "It doesn't bother me."

I remembered the erotic pleasure of her tasting blood on my tongue, but that had been before she'd known the truth. And this wasn't a _little_ blood. It was a lot. I knew what it looked like—what _I_ looked like—after I fed.

"I made you a bath."

She took my hand and began pulling me toward the bathroom. I cringed as our skin stuck together from the vestiges of drying blood, but Bella paid it no mind.

The large bath was filled. Steam floated upward from the water, and the mirror was fogged. The tile flooring was warm under my bare feet.

"You planned this when you sent me hunting," I said.

"I might have."

"Thank you," I said awkwardly, squeezing her hand. "Let me see to this, though. I'll only be a minute."

Brow furrowed, she shook her head. "Let me stay."

Raising her hands, she put her fingers to the buttons of my tattered, bloodied shirt. The buttons popped through the holes easily, despite how much she was shaking.

"Doesn't this bother you? Don't you have any desire to run away from me?"

Shaking her head, she smiled a curious, little smile and continued to the work on the buttons. I sucked in a breath when her finger brushed against my stomach.

"You have to eat," she said simply. "And what you do… I'm not bothered by that. Not really. I'm…" She looked up at me. "I'm amazed by you."

I held back an incredulous laugh. "Amazed?"

"You give up something you naturally want. You feel remorse for things that—in a way—you don't _have_ to, even if it's maybe good that you do. How many humans do that? I can't even give up chocolate."

"You don't have to give up chocolate," I pointed out. "No one dies if you eat it."

"You're a great man, Edward, no matter what else you are."

My shirt slipped to the floor, and she rested her palm against my chest, over my silent heart. "The choices you make mean you get to be with me," she whispered. "I'm thankful for that, so no, I'm not bothered that you come home like this. It means one thing to you, but I'm beginning to think that it means something else to me."

She blushed when my pants were off.

I looked away. "Sorry," I muttered. "You _are_ naked, though."

"I wasn't complaining," she said softly.

She pulled me to the large bath and held my hand as I got in, forgetting my balance was superior to hers.

As I sank into the warm water, blood swirled pinkly off of my skin into the bath. "_Go_," I said. "I know it's disgusting."

"It really isn't."

A slender foot slipped into the water, and I looked up in surprise. Her heart was so loud in that moment that I thought its drumming might echo off the bathroom walls.

Bella knelt in the water and sat on my thighs, her knees resting on either side of my hips. Wet, warm hands framed my face. "I love you," she said, "and blood doesn't come between us."

Suddenly, I knew she was right. Blood _didn't_ come between us—not anymore. I vowed it never would. I vowed I would be everything I could for her.

"Bella." I could only speak her name.

She smiled in response and picked up my right hand to begin washing the blood away. With gentle hands, she washed me clean, removing the blood and hair from under my nails, the dried drop at the side of my mouth. It was a baptism. She made me whole with water and her hands, sculpted me into something new.

Humans, though so often predictable, have moments of greatness. I saw it sometimes in their memories, sometimes as it happened. I'd witnessed it in their final moments before death, when they thought of loved ones, of regrets, of God, or when they courageously stared me down. It came down to intention and choice, both of which were incomprehensibly more significant in a finite lifespan. When at the crossroads, what did these fragile china dolls choose to do, to think, to feel?

This was one of Bella's moments of greatness.

And she chose to give it to me.

The water sloshed in the tub as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck in a tight hug. "Make me like you," she whispered in my ear.

For a moment, I didn't move or breathe. Bella's heart thundered once more. "Bella, I… I've never done this—never turned anyone."

"Shh, not tonight, okay? But one day."

"You really mean that?"

She nodded against my neck, and I smelled the salt of her tears.

I pushed her away gently and brushed wet hair from her face. "Why are you crying?" In truth, I wanted to cry with her. My eyes burned.

"I'm just so—" She shook her head. "I'm just happy and a little afraid and…so _many_ things."

"It's all right. I am, too."

I pressed my mouth to hers. I tried to tell her through touch what I couldn't express any other way. All other ways seemed inferior.

"Make love to me," she whispered, her breathing uneven.

"I don't want to hurt you…"

"We'll go slow."

Loving eyes watched me closely, and I knew, because of her, I wasn't the creature I'd been. I nodded.

We rose out of the pink-colored water, dried each other off and retired to the bedroom. On the bed, I covered her body with mine, kissed her slowly, teasingly until our hips rocked. I could smell her blood, her passion, the watered down remnants of deer blood on our skin. My throat flamed, and I burned with it.

I moved down her body, kissing and licking each patch of clear skin that had once carried a mark I'd made on her—each sloping rib, both jutting hipbones. Her humanity was precious, even if I was thankful that she was willing to give it up for me.

I spread her legs and kissed along the inside of her thighs, then higher—touching and tasting until her breathing evolved to sighs and moans. Her femoral artery worked like a polished engine, seamlessly carrying blood through her body; it rushed like thick floodwater beside my ears.

_Life._

Hers. Mine. Ours.

Hearing her cry my name made me shiver. "I can't wait any longer," I confessed, moving back up her body.

She arched upward in expectation. "I want you."

I held her hips and slid just inside the warmth of her body. There was no bothering with condoms this time. It was her naked flesh against mine, a bed of fire and ice. She tried to push up, to bring our bodies closer together, but I held her to the bed.

My breathing labored, I asked her softly, "Forever? You're sure that's what you want?"

Biting her lip, she nodded.

"Tell me again," I begged.

"I want forever with you, Edward." She pushed at my restraining hands. "I want all of you."

I sank into her with a groan.

When we lay together later in the night, the room smelled of us—of venom and sweat, of blood pulsing beneath the surface of skin. Yawning, Bella threw a leg over my hips and curled into my side. Her ear rested against my chest, over the heart that would beat for her if it could beat at all.

"Merry Christmas, Edward."

I kissed the top of her head and hummed her to sleep.

* * *

Could vampires be reborn?

I wondered this as I watched her play with Lucky in the backyard.

I felt blessed.

* * *

Bella didn't think I saw her sadness or the way her fingers found the fragile lines of the fossil's dragonfly wings, but I noticed. I understood. Acceptance of death does not mean one doesn't grieve from time to time.

"Come," I told her. "It's time we saw Charlie."

It was cold and dismal at Forks' cemetery. Bella sat in front of her father's gravestone, her nose red from the wind and from crying too much. I stood beside her and pondered what it would mean to take Bella from her human realm.

Later that day, as we sat together in front of the television, I remarked between commercials, "I don't know if I have a soul."

She muted the television and turned to me with eyes still puffy from crying. "What do you mean?"

What I wondered was if by choosing me, she might never again see Charlie. She might burn in hell with me one day. If there was indeed a hell; no one knew for certain, but I had enough watery human memories from church to hope it wasn't where I was headed. Was I truly willing to risk her soul for my own personal happiness? _No_, I thought, but I was willing to try to outsmart God.

"I don't know that vampires have souls," I said. "Most people don't believe we do. Most think we're demons, if anything, bound for hell, even if we take a long detour on the way down."

I thought of the nomads I'd come across over the years. _Demon_ wasn't a wholly inappropriate description, given the red eyes, nearly unquenchable thirst and depraved lifestyle of a vampire on the move. _I_ had been a demon once.

Before her.

"People believe lots of things—doesn't mean they're right."

"No," I agreed, "but say that they are."

"It'd be pretty cruel of God—any god—to punish you for something you didn't choose. I don't believe in that sort of thing."

"Perhaps. But then what of you? I'm _asking _that you choose this. You're currently agreeable." I pulled her a little closer. "_What if_ I'm asking you to give up your soul—for me? What right do I have?"

For a moment, she said nothing, and I knew she was thinking a million things I wanted to hear. Leaning forward, she kissed the corner of my mouth, then settled back down, resting her head on my shoulder.

"My soul's already yours, Edward Masen. That's what I think."

* * *

Bella kissed her way down my body, her fingers curling around my cock. I clamped my eyes shut. I couldn't look at her—it'd be too much—but I sought out her face with my hand. "Slow. Go slow," I cautioned, struggling to speak as I caressed her warm cheek. "Remember to stop if I—"

She kissed one of my thighs, cutting off my words. "If you tell me to. I know. You won't hurt me, Edward."

"You can't know that. You thought that once before. Think of—"

"We're different now."

"Are we?"

"Yes, we are. _Relax_."

I could not relax. I hated myself for wanting this, for thinking about it, for obsessing over it as soon as she'd said she wanted it, too.

My God, it'd been decades since…

I breathed too loudly in anticipation, then I stopped breathing altogether. Allowing her this—allowing myself this—was a terrible idea. Absolutely awful. So much could go wrong. I could hurt her. She'd promised to tell me if anything hurt, told me to trust her, but I could—

"Oh, _Christ_, Bella."

This was possibly the best idea she'd ever had.

* * *

I stared at the television screen as the reporter described the latest murder in Portland. Why hadn't police caught the killer—killers? gang members?—yet? Humans could be slow when it came to solving crime, but this seemed exceedingly inept.

"More people have died?" Bella asked as she came to sit beside me.

"It's murder," I corrected, my voice hard.

"Seattle and Portland aren't too safe anymore… Lauren said the Seattle police force was downsized, too. That can't be helping." Her pulse thumped harder. "I hope they figure it out soon."

I looked at her. "Are you afraid?"

"No." Her heart gave away her lie. "It's just been going on for months now, is all. It bothered Dad a lot." She brought her legs up to her chest. "And we're kind of sandwiched in the middle of it."

I could take care of it, I thought. The beast I'd been would have taken great pleasure in disposing of a fellow predator. But Bella wouldn't want that, and so I didn't offer.

Scooting closer, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her brow. "The odds are against anything happening in Port Angeles, you know, but I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Ever."

Her heart rate slowed as she kissed my neck. "I know."

* * *

"Does it bother you that you weren't my first?"

Bella's eyebrows lifted. "It's not like you were mine, either."

"Touché." I didn't like to think about who had been.

"Too tight," she whispered, and I let my arms fall away from her. "What was she like?" She frowned. "I bet she was pretty."

"_Deadly_, is how I'd describe her," I said, my lip curling in distaste. "We shared bloodlust and lust, nothing more. Jacob Black, on the other hand…had your heart."

"And broke it," Bella replied flatly.

"Is it mended now?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

"Hurry!" I called. "I don't think it's going to last."

Why was I so excited about showing her this?

Bella ran outside, hopping as she pulled on a sneaker. Lucky was at her heels. "It won't hurt you, right?"

Her concern touched me. "Not in the least."

She stopped at the end of the fragile ray of light that had managed to pierce through the late December clouds.

"Don't be afraid," I said.

"I'm not."

I stepped from the shade. The sun felt like Bella on my skin.

She sucked in a breath and squinted against the brightness of my skin. "You…you look like a diamond," she said. "Like my Gran's suncatcher." She let out a relieved laugh. "You had me so worried! I didn't know what to expect!"

"I'm guessing _glitter_ never entered your mind," I said dryly before laughing with her.

She shook her head and came forward to touch my face. Light from my skin reflected onto hers. "How's it work?"

"Carlisle thinks it's UVB rays that we react to. I don't pretend to know."

Clouds blocked the sun again as I held her. "I can see why you don't want to be seen in the sun," Bella said. "Everyone would know you're not…human."

"I'll be taking the sun away from you," I sighed. "You deserve the sun—every warm, good thing."

"I don't need the sun, Edward—just you."

* * *

I wanted her all the time. It was a hunger, for which blood did nothing. I yearned not only to consume, but also to _be_ consumed. Whereas I'd cherished her moments of rest in the past, with the amusing glimpses into her quiet mind, now I paced at the foot of the bed, counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds before she'd wake. I needed to hear her, to touch her. I burned with it, this fire in my veins.

_Mania_.

That was the clinical term. I'd seen it in enough minds to recognize it in my own. It was a feeling of jittery madness—one so sweet, made of that breathless moment before diving into deep, black water; of the last leap made when one knows he's winning the race; of the galloping beat of Bella's heart right before she came against my mouth. I was high. I could compose any song, go anywhere, be anyone, because she was mine. Would eternity be long enough when she gave it to me?

"Edward?"

I'd woken her, and I agonized over this while also rejoicing.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was rough with sleep.

"Nothing," I whispered. "Everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

_Stay awake. Always. Never sleep._

She sat up. "Tell me."

I looked at her, at the mess of tangles around her face, the swell of lips that had been kissed too much and not enough. "You're too beautiful for your own good."

Her blush smelled like crushed roses petals in a bed of cut grass. "Why are you pacing?"

I stopped, and it was as if a coil was pressed down in my body. I needed somewhere to release the energy or I would go mad.

Bella leaned forward and grabbed my hand. She tugged. "Lie with me?"

I crawled onto the bed, over her legs. She fell back to the pillow and watched me with a wise smile. In all likelihood, she knew what I would say. "I need you," I confessed.

She wrapped her arms around my neck. Tired as she was, they hung loosely. I babbled against her mouth, overwhelmed, desperate and in love. "I need you all the time."

"_Shh_, you have me."

* * *

The New Year passed in shared joy and a night with drunken Bella, who was as eager as she was uncoordinated. It was the second of January now. The Cullens were due back in the evening. Life was moving forward, and big decisions would need to be made soon concerning my and Bella's future. Would she remain human for a time? Would she allow me to change her soon? Did she want anything, want to do anything, before diving headfirst into this existence?

I didn't view these matters with pessimism or trepidation, only excitement. The future seemed bright. The shadows and darkness were things of the past.

I was returning home at a human's pace. Bella had gone to Charlie's to finish the kitchen cabinets, and as she'd insisted on going without my help again, I took the time to hunt. Hunting now meant I wouldn't have to leave her in a few days.

The stillness of winter was in the forest, along with the raucous _caws_ of crows. Peace was inside me as I contemplated composing a new work. I would play it for Bella later, I decided.

All seemed well, until I caught a faded scent on the breeze. Creosote and yucca burned in my nostrils. In disbelief, I breathed in again.

No. No, no, no.

_Why now?_

I ran the rest of the way home. As I neared, I heard her thoughts: the still, cold and calculating way she viewed the world, even the furnishings of my home, which she'd—of course—broken into.

I burst into the clearing of my backyard. The backdoor to the house was swinging on its hinge.

She'd heard me.

A slender, olive-skinned hand pushed the door open to reveal her small form. She still had a penchant for black dresses, for bangle bracelets. Full red lips lifted in a smile that matched red eyes.

_Deadly_.

"Hola, Eduardo."


	26. Our Sins, Revisited

**_Author's Notes (August 11, 2011):_**_ Thank yous and hugs to **duskwatcher2153** (who polished one important area in this chapter a lot!), **GreatChemistry**, **Aleeab4u** and **smexy4smarties** (Go eat some salt, 'kay?). Any mistakes left are mine, because I did final edits at five in the morning._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ I am full of lame and didn't have time to make one! :( However, there is a companion pic to this chapter. The link is in the closing notes._

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm26-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 26: OUR SINS, REVISITED**

* * *

_How many children have you sucked dry of life?_  
_None, none, none. Don't you see?_  
_It is you I intend to suck dry._

_Translation of "La Bruja" ("The Witch") by Conjunto Jardin_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
"Well, don't just stand there, _mi amante_. This is your home, is it not?"

"Of course. Excuse my rudeness, Maria," I answered around the venom collecting in my mouth. "Won't you come in?"

As if she hadn't already broken my lock, as if she wasn't standing in my open doorway, dredging up a history I had no desire to revisit. What did she know? What had she seen? How long had she been here?

Black skirts swirling, Maria led me into my home, effectively destroying the tranquility Bella and I had begun to build. Heeled boots click-smacked on the hardwood floors. She counted her steps, focusing on each number. A tactician at heart, she'd always been a mastermind at blocking her true thoughts from me. Maria was the reason I didn't like revealing my ability to other vampires. It was dangerous. _She_ was dangerous.

"Lovely place. Very human, though. I smell their food." She ran her fingers along the back of a kitchen chair while studying me, her head cocked to one side. "I see you still haven't learned table manners."

I glanced down at my bloodied shirt.

She continued, "But you _have_ changed." _Golden eyes._ As quickly as her mind had opened, it shut once more, disappeared behind a memory of deceptively delicate fingers touching cactus needles.

"I'm no longer a nomad," I answered evasively.

"That much is obvious—but _why_? What can four walls offer you that the open road and rich, _human_ blood cannot?"

"Peace of mind, for one."

She rolled her eyes. "You always were bothered by your gift. And so dramatic! What does it matter what humans think when they die? Their minds are simple, whereas ours are layered. They are nothing."

_They_ mattered a great deal to me. "Why are you here, Maria?"

"Oh, you know I like to pay you a visit every now and again."

"It's been twenty-three years."

"You see? Far too long!"

_Not long enough._ I glanced at a clock. Bella would be home in an hour or two. I had to handle this situation carefully, but I couldn't tell Maria to leave. I spread my arms wide. "_Mi casa es su casa_."

"_Gracias_, but no need to be so formal," she chastised, though I could see she was in fact pleased. "As for my being here, there's much to explain. Let us retire to your couches, yes?" She turned toward the living room, already familiar with the layout of my home. "They look so soft. You know I have a fondness for fine, soft things." Looking over her shoulder, past a shining layer of black hair, she added, "I like fine, hard things, too, of course."

Though her words sickened me, I forced a grin to my face.

Lucky let out a weak growl when we entered the room. Quivering, he had pressed himself into the farthest corner. The scent of urine emanated from him. For once, instinct had kicked in.

"It's all right, Lucky," I murmured, hoping what I said was true. I sat in a chair that put me between the two of them.

Though her stare was one of supreme disinterest, she snarled at him, clicking her teeth in a dangerous bite. He whimpered, and she chuckled in amusement.

"Stop it." I added quickly, "Please."

"I'm only having a little fun. _You_ used to have fun. I suppose you're too busy picking out curtains these days." She looked around the room as she fingered the fabric of the lounge chair she'd seated herself on. "How long have you been here? Did the…_beast_ belong to the previous owner?"

"I own this house. Lucky's my pet."

Maria let out a loud, barking laugh. She'd always had a laugh that didn't at all suit her small frame. "A vampire with a pet! Just when I think I've seen it all. Ah, but you always have been an odd one, have you not? _Special_, some might say."

"You flatter me."

She sniffed the air, cataloguing scents, not least of all Bella's, and it was then that I knew I'd made a mistake by not saying the house belonged to another, a human. "I wonder… Do you have a human pet, too?" She inhaled again. "That's a very fresh scent. Floral."

I countered, "Are you stalking me again?"

"What's she like?"

"She's nothing, a distraction," I said as casually as possible. "Are you stalking me?"

Though her eyes hinted at amusement, Maria pouted. "You wound me. Do you not wish to see me, _mi amante_?"

"I'd be fine with the occasional visit," I lied, "if I thought that was all this was. We've been through this before. You know I've no desire to follow you into whatever mess you're getting yourself in now."

"So you've said once or twice. But we were so good together. Your gift—"

"_Won't_ be used to spy on other vampires in an effort to control them. It's what I've told you every time you've asked me to permanently join your coven." Unfortunately, I knew my refusal was part of my appeal.

"Can I not hope that you've changed your mind?"

"Our kind doesn't change."

"Doesn't it?"

I frowned, and she smiled.

"Here you gaze at me with _golden_ eyes as we sit in your _furnished home_, with your _pet_ and with the scent of a _human_"—she leaned over and sniffed the fabric of her chair—"female in her twenties coating every surface." She smiled a thin smile, and her mind was set on the desert. "I think a lot has changed about you—much more than I was expecting. It's a very interesting development."

"You assume a great deal," I replied tightly.

"Do I? I'm not known for that."

"How did you find me?"

"You could say we have a mutual acquaintance—_had_, really."

My body tensed. "Who?"

"Alexander Jang—a pianist, I believe. In Seattle."

For a moment, I stared at her, numb with shock. "What did he do to you?"

"He smelled good. I fed. There's nothing mysterious about it."

She was right. There wasn't. It was no different to how I'd lived in the past. Even so, it was difficult to accept now. The quiet, anxious little man I'd shared music with was gone forever. He had been a recluse. I had to wonder if anyone even knew he was dead.

"Imagine my surprise when I found a recently-shipped box of sheet music from one Edward Masen," Maria said, unaware of my grief. "What are the odds?" _I'm glad I found you, mi amante. _

"You can't stay here."

"Why not? Besides, you know I come and go as I please."

That was the problem.

"There are others," I said, thinking quickly, feeling the sudden pressure of time. What if I couldn't get her to leave soon? What if Bella came home early? I shoved those thoughts aside and continued, "Another coven. I have a tenuous agreement with them, but I don't think they'll take kindly to another vampire moving in on their territory. They're three strong." There were the wolves, too.

"_Three_, you say?" Maria barked out another loud, raucous laugh. "Eduardo, _mi amante_, who do you take me for? I never travel an area that I've not first scouted. I am well aware of Carlisle Cullen and his little fringe cult. In fact, that you should be so near them is fortunate."

"You know the Cullens?"

"We've crossed paths once or twice. They have something that belongs to me."

"They _stole_ from you?" What could one steal from a vampire such as Maria, other than territory? Maria had never wanted anything but Mexico under her control, which she had, as far as I knew. What could the Cullens have that was hers—in Washington?

"It's not of your concern. What _is_ of your concern is the reason for my little detour to see you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Which is?"

"It will come as a surprise to you, I'm sure, but I'm on Volturi business."

The knot in my stomach grew more uncomfortable at the mention of our government. _Bella_. The Volturi could _not_, under any circumstance, know about Bella and me.

I struggled to keep my tone neutral. "That is a surprise. Don't you and the Volturi make for strange bedfellows? Weren't they considering killing you only a century ago?"

"Eternity's a long, tedious matter, as you know," Maria sighed. "They've forgiven me my transgressions, and, for them, the New World is difficult to control from so far away. We have mutual interests. I want more territory, and they want a branch in North America to cut back on air travel when dealing with messes. Part of their effort to go green," she said, using air quotes. "So you see, enemies easily become friends."

Suddenly, I understood. "The deaths in Seattle and Portland—"

She snickered. "Isn't it driving the humans mad trying to figure it all out!"

"You're building a newborn army again. But that's forbidden. The Volturi would never allow—"

"Yes, well, here's the funny thing about _that_," Maria interrupted, and not without some acid. "What's illegal is sometimes _not_ so illegal when the government is on your side. My job is to wipe out the vampires between Alaska and Colorado—easiest, most effective way I know of is newborns."

"Wipe them out?" I echoed in disbelief. "At what cost? Your methods are exposing us."

Maria waved a hand in dismissal. "No one's guessed vampires are the culprit, and you know they won't. The world doesn't accept that sort of superstitious thinking these days. Besides, I've been given some leeway. There are growing pains in establishing any new rule, you know."

Recklessly creating newborns was supposed to be illegal in our world, as newborns were extraordinarily strong, difficult to control and _always _thirsty. How could the Volturi sanction this? Corrupt human governments were bad enough. The thought of corruption in _my_ world's government… I felt impossibly cold.

"Who will run this new branch?" I asked, dreading her reply.

"That remains to be seen—probably one of their own will come here. I don't care, provided I have a slice of territory to myself. You know I'm always eager to expand. To them, I'm just the military—here to do the dirty work. Europe's been busy this last decade or they probably would have done it all themselves. More cleanly, too, but where's the fun in that?"

"And what about the Cullens?"

She flashed a mysterious smile. "I've been told I can handle them however I see fit, but that I should _first_ attempt to gain their allegiance. The Volturi leader sees them as a growing threat to his rule."

"The Cullens are a threat?"

"It's paranoia. You don't kill and rule as many vampires as the Volturi have without making enemies who might wish to see someone usurp the throne; paranoia isn't unwise. The Olympic Coven seems like a threat, because the Volturi can't understand them. They aren't a threat, but they _are_ human fanatics, so I imagine it will come down to eradicating them, once I retrieve what is mine." She sighed dramatically, but I heard the warning for what it was. Toe the line, follow, or risk eventual execution.

"I'll help you," I blurted out, thinking that I could perhaps disrupt her plans. "They'll cooperate if I become involved. They could be valuable. There's a gifted vampire in their coven."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh? Now why would they be so cooperative if you got involved?" _What is he hiding? He's hiding something._ She sniffed the room again, and her mind returned to a desert sunrise.

"I told you. I have an agreement with them."

"That must be some agreement. Of course, you feed as they do, so I'm sure that puts you into their good graces," she said, her lip curling.

"You know—"

"—that you feed from animals? Of course. Your eyes give you away."

"Have you always known we could survive on animal blood?"

"Only since the sixties."

"Why didn't you tell me? You've seen me twice since then."

Her lip curled. "Why would I encourage this behavior? Animal blood is disgusting." Her eyes landed on Lucky. "And I never knew you were such a masochist." She tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. "This gifted vampire… Tell me more."

I sent a silent apology to Alice, while wondering if she was aware of the predicament I currently found myself in. "A female. She can predict the future."

"Intriguing. Is she any good?"

"She'd be helpful with your newborn vampires. You don't seem to have very good control over them, judging by the news reports."

"I can't be everywhere at once," Maria snapped. "You can deliver this female to me?"

"I'll try if you wish."

"I do."

"Leave it to me. She'll be more receptive if only I approach her."

Maria's looked surprised. "You must know her well."

"Well enough."

"And you'll join me? As soon as I realized we were both in Washington, I thought of all we could do together. You could help me babysit the newborns. They _can_ be a handful—always leaving messes for me to clean up."

"Maria. _No_."

"Did we not have good times?" Smirking, she opened her mind to me, sharing a memory of how it had felt to have me buried inside her. It was more bizarre than arousing. Not that it could be arousing for either of us, truly. Her mate had died long ago, and her bitterness came through in moments when passion should have existed.

"That's enough," I said softly.

As I looked at her, I recalled the month we'd spent together in 1947, when I'd been in my twenty-sixth year of vampirism. I'd been passing through New Mexico, when I'd crossed paths with Maria and three others who were following her at the time. I remembered her words: "Stick with me for a month, _amigo_, and you'll never want to leave." I followed; words such as those are appealing to the listless.

She'd almost had me, too. With Maria, all my guilt fell away. Killing, using my ability against others: that was my purpose, or so she preached. It had been a month of hedonistic pleasure—toying with humans, sharing blood, teasing and licking and sucking until finally, we'd fucked in the middle of the desert, drained corpses strewn out around us. I didn't like remembering that night, the night I'd lost my long-held virginity in a way I'd never quite intended.

I'd left her after that, and she'd found me every twenty years or so since, in hopes of reeling me in again. Part of it was that, in her arrogance, she couldn't quite grasp how or why vampires willingly left her coven. The other part was that she believed my mind reading would be of great use to her, and if there was one thing that could be said of Maria, it was that she surrounded herself with those she deemed useful.

"It's been sixty-one years since I followed you in any capacity, Maria. I have no desire to join your coven or take part in newborn armies, even if you have the Volturi's…blessing. I don't want to be involved." I inhaled slowly, carefully, and used words I hoped would pacify her and ensure her swift departure. "But I _will_ help you with the Cullens." And hope they could help me in the process. "It's the least I can do for an old friend."

"Oh, _amiga_, am I?" She quirked a brow. "No lovers these days? Always trying to be the celibate one. And yet, if I didn't know better"—she sniffed, breathing in the scent of roses—"I'd say the human pet is more to you than she should be. But then…you wouldn't dare defy protocol so blatantly as that, would you?"

Another warning.

I forced myself to remain calm. "The human is nothing to me—a toy."

"Hmm."

"I'll get the psychic for you," I said, even as it felt as though my throat were closing. "Just give me some time and independence."

Red eyes stared at me. "Fine." Maria stood, her bangle bracelets chiming. "You do that. As you say, it's the least you can do for your first love, who is now but a friend."

I stood as well. "How do I get in touch with you?" She wasn't the type to carry a cell phone. Old vampires often abhorred technology.

"I'll return in three days. Try to acquire her for me. A gift such as hers should not be wasted on the likes of Carlisle Cullen's coven."

There was something in Maria's voice, the satisfaction of her tone, that left me to wonder if I was playing into her hand. She had a way of using those she wanted to, as she saw fit.

"Will you be in Seattle or Portland?" I asked.

"I'll be around."

Stepping toward me, Maria placed a hand on my chest. I froze. "Eternity stretches on longer than you can fathom. You will tire of this little game you are playing with humans and their sympathizers."

"Says the woman who's played war games for centuries."

Her smile showed white vampire teeth. "I like to think of it as chess for the more durable. Of course, you know I don't only do it for fun."

No, Maria never did anything without a great deal of thought. How long had Alexander been dead? How long since she'd decided to visit? Had she been watching me from afar? Had she already seen Bella?

Leaning up on her toes, Maria kissed my cheek. It felt wrong—cold, lifeless, everything Bella wasn't. "Three days, Eduardo. That will give you time to consider joining me."

"I won't."

"We'll see."

I followed her as she walked to my back door. I couldn't help but ask, "Did you kill him quickly?"

She turned to look at me. "Who, _mi amante_?"

Did life mean so little to her? Had it once meant so little to me?

"Alexander," I clarified.

"He's dead, Eduardo. Stop thinking about it."

With that, she ran into the shadowed woods. I waited until I could no longer hear her footsteps or see the imagery of her thoughts, the last scene of which depicted a coyote roaming through the brush of a desert mountainside. Her thoughts were her own, and I was left all the more to my panic because of it.

She knew where I lived. She knew Bella's scent and that _something_ wasn't right about my relationship with her; vampires and humans weren't meant to live together. How much did she know? Maria wanted to use me, and though I had no reliable means of seeing into her mind, I knew well enough that Bella could be the pawn she'd need. I could be a pawn as well, and not know it.

Lucky whined from the corner he was still hiding in, and my body thawed out. Never before had I been more grateful for my expansive vampire mind. Plans. I needed plans. Lots of them. But I really only had one: Get to Bella. Protect her at all costs.

"It's all right. Everything's all right," I said to the quaking dog, while selecting Bella's number on my phone.

"Hey!" she answered on the third ring. She sounded happy. I hated knowing I was about to ruin that.

"Bella—"

"I'll be home soon. I'm finishing up n—"

"_Bella_," I interrupted more firmly, "I need you to stay where you are. Do _not_ leave your father's house."

She was silent for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong?"

This called for honesty. "An acquaintance of mine is in town."

"An acquai—do you mean a _vampire_?" I heard the loud thud of her heart through the phone.

"I'm sorry." This had always been my fear, that I would draw danger to her.

"Is it really a problem for us? I mean, are they just passing through? You said you used to do that—just go through places."

"It's a long story," I sighed. There were possibly _several_ problems, but I wouldn't worry her over the phone. "I won't risk you, though. Stay where you are. I'll come get you."

"Wait, I'm in trouble?"

"I'm being careful. I'd rather you not be anywhere near a vampire who feeds from humans."

"Oh. _Right_. Human-eater. Not good."

"Exactly. Pack a bag or two. Do you have a passport?" I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whistled to Lucky, who reluctantly trudged away from his corner.

"I…have one, yeah. It's in your closet, in the front of my blue suitcase." I made a detour upstairs to retrieve it as she asked, "Do you think I'll need it?"

"I don't know, but it's better to be over-prepared than not at all." In the garage, I unlocked my car and loaded Lucky into the passenger's seat. I didn't like the thought of leaving him in the house, when Maria might return to "play." As it was, I didn't know where Bella and I would be in twenty-four hours. I wouldn't be taking any chances.

"Where will we go?" she asked as I reversed out of the garage.

"To the Cullens'. I may have dragged them into something, and there's safety for you in numbers." At least that was what I was hoping.

* * *

On my way to Forks, I tried to reach Alice. As I sped down highways, passing every car and truck on the road, I called her phone three times. She wasn't answering.

My fingers left marks on the steering wheel as my frustration grew. What good was a psychic who couldn't warn me of these matters and _answer her phone_? I growled when her voicemail started up again.

_"You've reached Alice Cullen! If you're trying to contact me about a design you purchased from Etsy, please email—"_

"Dammit!" I yelled, and Lucky yipped. "Not you," I said to him absently.

I sent Alice a text message: _There's a problem I might have involved you in—Maria. Have you had any visions of her? You need to come home now. Answer. Your. Phone._

She didn't reply; neither did Carlisle, nor Esme. Something wasn't right. Had Maria already gotten to them? Did she go to them _first_, and _then_ break into my home to toy with me? Was it greater risk to leave Bella only in my protection or to take her to one of the few places Maria might soon venture, in hopes of joining the others? There were newborns from Seattle to Portland. I couldn't be certain that members of the Volturi weren't about. For me, as for most nomads, they were a governing body whose legends preceded them; I had no firsthand knowledge of them.

I never should have fucked that woman.

My panic continued to escalate until I parked in front of Charlie's old house. It was the sound of Bella's heartbeat that grounded me. She was my priority, and I couldn't protect her if I wasn't being levelheaded. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

"Bella, it's me," I said, my knuckles gently rapping on the front door.

She fumbled with the locks—all three—and let me in. As soon as we were facing one another, her hands fluttered over my shoulders and arms in scrutiny. "You aren't hurt, right? This other vampire didn't—"

"Not a scratch on me." I smiled, taking one of her trembling hands. "Are _you_ all right? I don't want you to be afraid, Bella. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I'm not afraid," she said in a strong voice, but her heart and scent told me otherwise.

I kissed her forehead and took the backpack from her shoulder; she'd packed lightly. "We should head out."

"_Now_?" Her eyes widened. "But the Cullens aren't even home yet. They won't get in until this evening."

"I want to be there when they arrive." I frowned. "They aren't answering my calls."

"Is that a…bad sign?"

"I'm not sure. Alice would see any danger…" Wouldn't she? Had she? I wasn't so sure.

"This vampire's really dangerous, isn't he?" Bella bit at her lip.

"_She_," I corrected. "Maria Esperanza. And, yes, she is." I led Bella out the door. "I'll explain on the way to the Cullens'," I said as she locked up the house. "You might not like it…"

Heart ticking like a time bomb, Bella snorted. "How bad can it be? We've survived the worst stuff together already." She gave me a weak smile.

"I hope you're right about that."

Bella stared out the front of the car at her father's house as her fingers tangled in Lucky's hair. He was half overtaking her seat, half lounging over her legs. "Something really big's happening, isn't it?" she asked.

I thought of the dozens missing or dead in Portland and Seattle, Maria's war-lust, and the mysterious, powerful Volturi. "Possibly," I replied.

"I know you said on the phone that you're just being cautious—and not to sound selfish—but _am_ I caught in the middle?"

I reached over and touched her cheek. "If you are, it's only because of the poor choices I've made." I looked back at Charlie's front door with her. It was cream white, repainted a couple of weeks earlier. "We're only going to the Cullens' now, but if anything should happen, I'll make sure you get to come back here. I promise."

She let out a small sigh and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

The Cullens didn't live far away, but the drive to their home provided enough time for me to give Bella a brief history of Maria, a somewhat censored version of my relationship with her, and how much trouble we might be in by being in Washington.

"How can she do that to all those innocent people?" Bella asked, her eyes wide.

"She's a vampire. She behaves how most all vampires do—how I once did."

Bella shook her head. "She sounds a lot worse than you ever were."

"Perhaps." It was hard to believe that when I'd caused yet another death. I would add Alexander to my lists of victims.

"So…do we need to leave the whole region? I mean, what with the Volturi…" She shuddered. She hadn't taken the notion of a vampire government very well since I'd told her about them.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm hoping Alice will have some answers." My fingers tightened on the already-warped steering wheel. "She'd better have a good explanation for why she didn't warn me of this."

"I don't think she can predict everything."

"No," I agreed with a sigh, "but this was a very big thing for her to miss."

I turned onto the near-hidden driveway that led to the Cullens'. Trees, some made scraggly by winter, hung low over the car, their branches like dark fingers reaching toward us. They made me feel caged in, and I imagined running away from them with Bella—running away from everything. But I couldn't be sure that Maria wouldn't follow; she enjoyed battles of speed and wit. She _would_ come after me, if she thought I'd be useful for her insane cause.

My concerns were interrupted, for as we neared the Cullens', I picked up the mental whispers of two vampires. One I didn't know, but I recognized the crystal clear thought processes of my kind; the other mind belonged to Alice.

"Alice is here," I murmured as I tried to decipher the chaos of her mind.

"At least we know she's okay," Bella said.

The other vampire—a male, I thought—was in the house, rummaging through a suitcase. He was whistling an old folk tune under his breath. I glanced at Bella, wondering if she would be safe with this new stranger.

When the Cullen mansion came into view, we saw Alice. She stood stock still beside a polished, black motorcycle, staring ahead, a large helmet hanging from one hand.

"I didn't know she was into bikes."

I glanced at Bella incredulously.

"Sorry," she whispered.

I came to a hard stop fifty feet from Alice. Her blank stare made it physically obvious that she was searching the future with her ability, but she never paused on the images in her mind, and they were too layered for me to grasp. As always, I was left wondering if this was how she naturally thought, or if she was hiding something from me. She'd told me she would if she felt it necessary.

_"Maybe you're not _meant_ to understand everything yet. Even if that drives you crazy."_

_"So you're going to withhold information about me—_from_ me?"_

_"If I have to."_

I frowned at the memory. "Stay in the car," I said to Bella.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"There's someone else here. I don't know him."

He could hear me from inside the house. He didn't know me, either. We were both on high alert, but for the moment, I didn't sense a threat.

"Maybe it's Jasper. Maybe he came back with her," Bella suggested.

I looked at her. "Who?"

Her brows pulled together. She glanced at Alice out of her side window. "I think you better talk to Alice."

"_Bella_…" What wasn't she saying?

She fidgeted. "Talk to Alice."

Frowning, I got out of the car. "I would've appreciated a warning," I said as I neared Alice. "If you saw what happened, that is."

She blinked and finally looked at me. _This is the present_, she reminded herself. Looking back at the house, she said, "It's okay, Jasper. Stay inside." In the back of her mind, she was still actively trying to search the future.

I glared at her. "Friend of yours?"

"I didn't know," she answered, replying to my initial statement. "I didn't see this happening. I had no idea you knew her. I thought—"

"Did you know about her, though—at all?" I asked, my voice a low growl. "Did you know she was behind what's been happening in Portland and Seattle?"

Alice hesitated, her eyes darting from me to where Bella was—I hoped—safely ensconced in the car. "Edward, I've had no choice."

"You knew."

Betrayal.

Snarling, I was before her in an instant. "How long has it been going on?" I hissed. "How many months have you put Bella at risk? You _know_ how her scent is, and the whole fucking region is apparently crawling with vampires." I wasn't foolish. While I knew Bella's blood called to me in a unique way, I was aware of how even the Cullens appreciated her scent. I had no doubt that Bella was a walking target for my kind.

"I've watched over Bella. I watched over Charlie. _Nothing_ has happened to them!"

"It could have!" I snapped.

"No, it couldn't! They haven't come anywhere near Forks or Port Angeles! You'd have smelled them if they had!"

"How do you know they aren't headed in this direction right now? You aren't as infallible as you believe," I taunted. "You're not God."

_Alice…_ The vampire inside the house was growing restless. He wanted to be with her. He paced the second story, listening to our words, concentrating on our breathing and movement. But it was Alice he concentrated on most. He was replaying a conversation they'd had earlier in the day. She wanted him to stay inside until she said otherwise, but he knew he'd go back on his word to her if it came down to her safety, if it came down to protecting her from me.

Suddenly, I understood. I let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're mated."

She glanced at the house and replied simply, "Yes."

"Do I actually know _anything_ about you and your coven?"

Perhaps it wasn't Maria's hand I'd been playing into. Perhaps it was Alice's.

Bella leaned out of the now open passenger's side window. "Is everything okay?"

Without turning away from Alice, I answered, "Stay where you are, Bella."

Of course, Bella had a stubborn, reckless streak, and so she chose to get out of the vehicle. I glanced back at her in disapproval. She coolly returned the expression as she folded her arms over her chest. Wind flowed past, and I smelled the adrenaline in her bloodstream.

"Edward, listen to me," Alice pled, and I turned back to her. "What she's doing—"

"Is what Maria _always_ does—gain territory. At least I have _some_ idea of what to expect from her. I thought it was the other way around, but I see I was wrong about that."

The vampire in the house halted his pacing. His disquiet was palpable. _Maria?_ In his mind, he saw the petite, olive-skinned woman with the calculating red eyes. He hadn't seen her in a decade; he'd hoped he wouldn't see her for a very long time.

I looked at Alice in surprise. "Oh, that's rich. You're keeping secrets from him, too?"

My voice prompted the other vampire into action. He rushed downstairs and threw open the front door. Tawny eyes surveyed the scene before him.

Alice dropped her helmet to the ground as she ran to the bottom of the porch, putting herself between us. "No, Jasper!"

It was too late.

Time froze as this vampire—this _Jasper_—and I stared at one another. There was something about him that I couldn't quite place, but slowly his features took shape, aligning themselves with a faded memory of a red-eyed creature of the night. Numb shock stole over me.

He was surprised as well. He remembered me, of course, the dirty young man in the gutter beside an empty bottle of whiskey. I had lain in a puddle and turned a muddy cheek in his direction as he neared me in his memory. I was so fragile.

He was as tall as I vaguely remembered him, with blond hair he'd tied back. I'd never forgotten the honey wheat hair, the way it'd covered my face as he'd drunk from my neck. The way it was tied back now revealed something I had no memory of—vampire flesh so thoroughly scarred that it lay over his muscles and bones more like a twisting bed of snakes than flawless granite. Vampire bites. He'd fought before, and he was the one left standing.

How many had he killed?

Even knowing this, even knowing I was inexperienced and younger in comparison, I saw him through a filter of blazing, white anger that made me believe I could defeat him. I saw him only as the vampire who'd stolen my chance at being a whole, good man, the vampire who'd indirectly led to the destruction of so many others. I knew him, knew his venom flowed in my veins, and I hated him with every fiber of my being.

_It can't be him_, he thought.

I bent into a crouch and snarled.

He stepped forward, putting himself in front of Alice, who was now mumbling as she stared ahead, seemingly trapped by the visions of her mind. Distantly, I watched versions of myself, Jasper, Bella and Alice as we shifted from one place to another, in a million alternate and colliding universes. We were actors on any number of possible stages. The future was uncertain.

Lucky's nervous whimper intermingled with Bella's erratic pulse. "Edward?" she called, but I was entranced; I couldn't answer. "Edward! What's going on? Alice—Jasper?"

No one answered.

I remembered the sensation of his teeth sinking into my flesh. Biting into human flesh was too easy for our kind, like a child chomping into cotton candy. The thought was infuriating, and I imagined tearing him in half, spitting venom on his insides.

"Now, let's just wait a minute and talk this out," Jasper said, raising a hand. _He should be dead. I thought he was dead._

I growled, and he narrowed his eyes. His hand dropped back to his side.

"I think it'd be best if you'd calm down," he said, his voice low in warning. "No man's ever made a wise decision feeling the way you do."

For a moment, I felt peace sweep through me. It was the peace of lying with Bella after making love, of being well-fed and feeling safe. And yet…there was falseness to the emotion, and in Jasper's thoughts, I heard a sharp, whip-like command: _BE CALM_. I'd been in enough vampires' minds over the years to know the command for what it was—the mark of an extra ability. This wouldn't be a fair fight.

I wouldn't fight fair, either. I leapt forward.

Our bodies crashed together, striking hard like lightning, cracking like thunder. To the tune of Bella and Alice's pleas and Lucky's barks and growls, we struggled—dancing around one another, then colliding again. He was far more experienced than I, but he had a clear mind that allowed me to counter nearly every maneuver as he envisioned it.

_Be at peace. Tired. Calm. Weak. Fear. STAND DOWN._

Each time I felt the pressure of his ability, but it couldn't cut through the intensity of my anger, which burned like venom, drowning out all else. He reached for my arm, and I leaned in to snap at his neck. We dodged each other's attacks. On and on we went.

"Let go!" Bella screamed at Alice, who was holding her back. "He's going to hurt him!"

Distracted, I faltered, and Jasper struck, cold and precise as a viper. He shoved at my chest, and I went flying back. I quickly regained my balance, but he was already rushing toward me. I darted away from his teeth, then grabbed his shoulders to get in my own bite; he yanked me away by my arm. Between his experience and my mind-reading, we were well-matched.

But then Jasper feinted, and in my rage—in my growing confidence over the fact that I'd not lost yet—I fell for deception. In an instant, he'd locked my arms behind my back and slammed me to my knees with such strength that my kneecaps were buried through the grass, into cold mud. A sudden burst of fear tore through me.

I had a life. I didn't want to die.

I heard in his thoughts as he multiplied my fear to use it against me. Fear seemed easier to manipulate than anger, and I was subject to all my worst waking dreams. I saw myself drinking from humans again, feeling the pleasure and guilt that came with such horrors. I saw Bella die a thousand deaths—as she labored with another man's child, or from sickness, or old age. I saw her die as I tried to change her—first, because her heart failed to survive the transformation—second, because I couldn't stop drinking her blood.

I stared into Bella's terrified eyes as Jasper's mouth neared my neck.

"Stop!" Alice and Bella screamed at the same time.

The sense of fear lifted marginally. "Alice?" Jasper queried.

"Stop. He won't do anything. I think it's okay." She looked at me. "Please don't start anything again."

Several long seconds passed as Jasper didn't shift a muscle. His grip was hard and tight. If I moved even a centimeter, he could easily tear my limbs off or rip into my throat with his teeth.

But he believed in Alice. "All right," he said, releasing my wrists.

I stood up and turned to him again. Seeing his face, my fear slowly returned to anger. It wasn't the all-consuming fury it had been minutes prior, but I did seethe. I glanced at Alice, my lip curling. She owed me an explanation—several. It was hard not to want to go after her as well.

Jasper took a step closer, invading my space. "You stay right where you are. Lay a finger on her, and I won't hesitate to lay a finger on Bella—much as I happen to like her." He raised a brow. "Alice is much sturdier."

Anger returned to fear. Again, I smelled adrenaline.

"Jasper…" Alice whispered.

"Are we clear?" he asked me.

I swallowed venom. "Perfectly."

He took a step back and reached for Alice's hand. "You need to listen to me when I tell you to," Alice hissed at him quietly. He grinned and kissed her nose. Considering we'd clawed up a quarter of Esme's front yard only moments prior, he was in relaxed spirits. I envied his ability to feel so calm.

I went to Bella and enfolded her in my arms. I drew in her scent, luxuriated in the burn, as Lucky paced restlessly around us.

"What the hell just happened?" Bella asked, looking up at me.

"Don't worry," Alice answered. "I don't think they're going to fight anymore." She grinned. "It actually all worked out!" _Wasn't so sure for a minute there…_

"No, we won't fight anymore," I assured her, holding Bella a little tighter. My fury had disappeared. Revenge wasn't worth it if it put Bella at risk. Keeping her safe had been the whole reason I'd brought her to the Cullens'.

"But what started all that?" Bella asked. She frowned up at me. "That's not like you."

"He's my maker." Bella's eyes darted toward Jasper in surprise. I didn't miss the fact that Alice's did, too. At the same time, one of the clearest thoughts I'd ever heard come from her mental chaos surfaced: _That's why? It all makes sense now_.

Jasper watched me closely, remembering the human man I'd been. He remembered the flavor of my blood. I'd tasted like almonds and whiskey. We were both disturbed to feel the burn of our thirst at the memory. It seemed I wasn't the only one who struggled with the call of blood.

"You fucking _left_ me," I accused. "A newborn in the suburbs of Chicago."

"I did no such thing—at least, not on purpose, I didn't. I was on the run when I stumbled across you. I needed nourishment, and there you were—drunk as a skunk. To tell you the truth, you _seemed_ like an easy kill at the time." He wrapped an arm around Alice's shoulders. "Never would've guessed you'd turn up on my doorstep eighty-seven years later." He glanced at his mate. "I'm guessing there's a whole story to that."

My grip tightened on Bella. I struggled to hold back the strength of my growing alarm. "Are you saying you didn't intend to change me? How could you not know you'd made a vampire?"

"I was on the run," he said again. "I'd left Maria's coven—sounds like you know her—and she'd sent a tracker after me. I'd been running for days when I got to Chicago, and I needed to feed—was draining you when they caught up with me, had to make a run for it. I was outnumbered as all get out."

"In other words, I was a mistake."

"I'd hoped you were dead."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

He ignored me. "Your heartbeat was faint when I left you. Weak hearts are about the only thing venom can't cure to help you survive the change. You weren't likely gonna make it, and I couldn't exactly go retracing my steps to see what'd happened to you, one way or another. Maria was on my tail for right at a decade. You'd've been long-gone from Chicago by the time I could've made my way back there. The odds were against your surviving."

"I survived," I whispered, and Bella pressed herself closer to my side.

"I see that. I did always…wonder. A little." In truth, it had bothered him many times over the years.

His story was believable, and his thoughts lined up with everything he was saying, but this wasn't what I'd expected. All the anger I'd lived with for decades was for naught, misplaced at best. It left me feeling confused.

"It may be inadequate, but I do apologize," Jasper said, sensing my inner conflict. "It was never my desire to harm anybody. That's why I left Maria." He looked down at Alice, a small smile on his face. "I didn't know there was another way to live until I met Alice." She returned his smile.

I understood his feelings. Bella—my mate—had given me a new way to live, too. I found myself…sympathizing with him. All the times I'd blamed my maker for my actions, he hadn't even known that he'd created a vampire—hadn't ever _meant_ to in the first place. How was I to reconcile decades of anger and anguish with this new understanding?

"What's this I hear about Maria?" Jasper asked.

His words pulled me from my thoughts. I snorted in annoyance. "I'm sure your mate knows something about it."

Jasper lifted a brow at her. "I'd guess she would." He gestured toward me. "Care to sit down and clear the air…?"

"Edward," I supplied.

He nodded once. "Edward, then."

Alice looked down at her shoes. "We should probably wait for the others to get here."

"Where are they?" Bella asked.

"When I saw Edward with Maria," Alice started, "I had Jasper get us here faster. They'll be here shortly. I just thought you two should meet before…everything else came out. It was for the best, even if it didn't go quite according to plan."

_Everything else came out?_

"Well, we've met now," I snapped.

_Relax_, I heard Jasper think my way. My body loosened up.

"Stop _doing_ that." He shrugged and let up on his ability.

"This would have gone much better if you'd have listened to me, Jas." Alice sighed as she looked over the broken up patches of grass from where Jasper and I had fought. "Esme's going to be so angry."

"I'm not that worried about Esme," Jasper said. "Maria, however…"

I nodded in agreement. If Jasper and I could find any common ground, it would perhaps be through a mutual dislike for Maria Esperanza.

Alice needlessly rubbed at her right temple. "We really should wait for the others. There's a lot to tell."

"Seems like," Jasper said while we stared at each other, entertaining feelings of wary curiosity in the aftermath of our struggle.

* * *

**_Closing Notes: _**_"Mi amante" means "my lover."_

_When Maria tells Edward to stop being so formal, it's because he's used the formal version of that phrase. "Mi casa es su casa," which means "my house is your house" is formal; whereas "mi casa es tu casa" is supposedly informal (though I'm not sure how much it's used, if at all)._

_If you'd like to see a picture of my Maria—as I don't really think of the actor from the "Eclipse" movie when writing her—visit **bit(dot)ly/sotpm-maria**_

_As an aside, I hope some of you are going to participate in the Canon Tour! If you don't know what that is, check out **bit(dot)ly/canon-tour** or hit me up on Twitter at **TheCanonTour**._


	27. Tangled Webs

**_Author's Notes (September 7, 2011):_**_ Thanks to **Aleeab4u**, **duskwatcher**, **GreatChemistry** and **smexy4smarties**. They put up with an absurd amount of typos this time. (What was that all about, anyway? Was I drunk? I don't remember being drunk...)_

**Chapter pic:** None. RL sucks.

**Chapter music:** bit(dot)ly/sotpm27-music

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 27: TANGLED WEBS**

* * *

_"Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future."_

_Neils Bohr_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
Things were tense as we waited for the others. Edward and I sat on one side of the living room, while Jasper and Alice sat on the other. None of us talked. Alice gazed into the distance, doing whatever it was she did to view the future. Lucky lay on the floor by my feet, calm and oblivious to our turmoil. I, being human, wasn't handling things so well. That I was keeping it together at all proved just how far I'd come.

Edward and Jasper were covered in drying mud and grass stains from their scuffle. They stared at each other—completely still, not even breathing, rarely blinking. Sometimes I felt Edward's thigh muscle twitch against mine, as if he was considering attacking Jasper again, but then the muscle would still like the rest of him.

Even though I wasn't sure _fighting_ had been the mature response—and I still couldn't get over how _fast _they'd moved—I understood Edward's anger. He'd told me about his first year as a vampire, how horrible it had been to learn everything on his own. I couldn't imagine waking in a new, foreign body that had changed so much that it couldn't even process one of the most basic things—human food. Jasper's not being there for Edward had caused him extreme anguish. To some degree, I felt angry on his behalf.

But I had to believe Jasper when he said everything had been a mistake, all because of this other vampire, Maria. I didn't know Jasper very well, but I knew his family. I didn't believe any of them were evil. They were good people…even if they were vampires. They'd been good to me and Charlie through the years.

Then there was the fact that without Jasper's mistake, I wouldn't have ever met Edward. I could never be upset about meeting Edward, even if I wished his early life had been better.

I opened my mouth to ask how close the others were, but Alice answered me before I spoke. "They're five minutes away," she said. Her glassy eyes didn't move or blink. The human charade had completely crumbled.

Not long after Alice's declaration, I heard the grumble of engines and the crunch of gravel. Then the front door swung open with a bang. Edward was on his feet in one blurred movement as Emmett Cullen entered the house.

Emmett looked exactly like he had the day he, Jasper and Rosalie had come to see Alice graduate—going on four years ago. He was giant, as big as any professional linebacker. Even in the large living room, he filled up the space with his presence and the five overstuffed pieces of luggage he carried, which he proceeded to drop to the polished, hardwood floors without care. I winced.

"Sorry, Esme," he called, shrugging.

For one so hulking, he should have been intimidating, but along with Alice, Emmett had always been the friendliest of the "Cullen kids." In a strange way, I was excited to see him again, even if we didn't really know each other. It was like extended family had come home for the holidays. Not that the days ahead seemed as if they'd be anything like a vacation.

Edward didn't see Emmett's presence in the same positive light that I did. He stood a little in front of me, tense and alert.

"It's okay," I assured him, resting my hand on his back. His shirt was torn, and my fingers touched cool flesh.

Unbothered by Edward's disarray or jumpiness, Emmett smiled, revealing boyish dimples. "Hey, man," he said. "You must be the guy who's kept Rosie and me north of the border for so long." He thrust a hand forward. "The name's Emmett McCarty Cullen."

Edward stared at the proffered hand for a moment, then reached out and grasped it. "Edward Masen," he said tersely, but I did feel him relax. The handshake was brief, and Emmett backed away with an amused expression on his face.

"Hey, Bella," he said, waving. I waved back. "Long time, no see. I hear, you're, uh, in on things now."

"I'm knee deep in everything," I confirmed, and he grinned.

Esme entered behind Emmett. She looked over everyone, a frown marring her usually calm and kind demeanor. "Just _what_ happened to my yard?"

_That_ was what she was worried about? I looked at Alice out of the corner of my eye, while wondering, _Do they not realize we have a crazy vampire to deal with?_

"I think _he_ happened," a clear, female voice said behind Esme.

Rosalie Hale—_no, it must be McCarty_, I corrected myself—entered the house. She was as beautiful, blond, curvy and tall as I remembered, and she knew she was all those things; she oozed self-confidence. Standing back a bit, her arms folded over her substantial bust, she reminded me strangely of Judy, my old boss from Hal's. They looked nothing alike, but they had the same prickly attitude that suggested they'd sweep the floor with you if they felt like it. Of course, maybe that meant she was capable of Judy's kindness, too. For now, she studied Edward with a disapproving stare.

Esme looked between Jasper and Edward with her own air of disapproval as she noted their dirty clothes. "I don't know what happened—it seems to be cleared up now—but I'll expect you two to clean up your mess. You've ruined my rose bushes."

Edward ignored Esme's ire. "Is she the last of you?" he asked Alice, pointing a finger at Rosalie. His tone was impolite, and I poked him in the back. _Be nice._

"Yes," Alice answered.

"Are you sure about that?" Edward asked sarcastically. "I've been told for a while now that there were only _three_ of you."

I bit my lip. I did _not_ want to see another fight. For one, Edward didn't seem all that good at them.

Alice looked a little guilty. "There are six of us—all total. That's Rosalie in the corner. She'll warm to you; she just doesn't like change. Esme's going to forgive you about the roses, too."

"Once there are new ones planted in the spring," Esme said.

Rosalie scowled in Alice's direction. "I don't see why we had to stay in Alaska for _him_."

"You're not the only one who holds that opinion," Jasper said dryly.

Rosalie's eyes landed on me, and it was all I could do not to shrink in on myself. She was just _that_ lovely and intimidating. To my surprise, though, her expression softened, and her voice was sweet when she spoke again. "I'm sorry about your dad, Bella. He was very kind to my family when we first arrived. He was a good man." Emmett nodded his agreement.

"Oh." A pang of grief ripped through me as I thought of my father. He was never far from my mind. "I…thank you, Rosalie."

She nodded curtly, and her annoyance returned to Alice. "I would have come to the funeral if I could have."

"I told you already," Alice said. "It just wasn't possible for you to."

Before Rosalie could reply, Carlisle entered the house last, clearing his throat loudly as he closed the front door behind him. As if we were all of one mind, we stopped talking and looked to him. Brows raised, he stared back at each of us.

"Right then," he murmured. "Now that we're all together and…somewhat acquainted, it seems a family meeting is in order." The Cullens started moving away from the living room, but Edward and I stayed where we were. "Everyone in the dining room," Carlisle explained to us.

Apparently all Cullen family meetings were held in the dining room; each of them sat down in seats that suggested familiarity, with Carlisle at the head of the table. It looked like any house's dining room, although there was a good chance the antique dining table had cost a small fortunate ("small," only to the Cullens). They even had a large glass cabinet that showcased fine china, which had likely never been used. Edward and I glanced at each other, sharing amusement. None of them seemed to find it odd to use a dining room this way.

Moreover, there was something hilarious about a family of vampires sharing a table with their natural food source, and I struggled to contain a fit of hysterical giggles. Or maybe it wasn't that funny at all; I'd done it often enough that it shouldn't be. Maybe I was just stressed out. It was overwhelming enough to reunite with all the Cullens, now that I knew the truth about what they were, but there was also the tension between Jasper and Edward. And there was Maria. I didn't have to meet her to know I didn't like her at all.

As if sensing my sudden anxiety, Edward grabbed my hand under the table. He spoke to Carlisle, "You've always seemed like a man of reason, so you should understand why I want to know what's going on. It's for my safety and Bella's. Alice has been keeping things from me. I'm not so sure that you and Esme haven't been keeping secrets as well."

I resisted the urge to point out that he'd put me in the same position not long ago. Having lots of secrets, I was learning, was part of vampire life.

"Now with Maria here," Edward continued, "I don't—"

"_Maria_?" Esme interrupted, her eyes wide as she glanced at Jasper, who nodded with a frown. "Alice, why didn't you warn us?"

"I've wanted to, but the timing wasn't right." Alice reached for Jasper's hand on the tabletop, but he silently moved it. A numb acceptance crossed her face.

"Well. It seems there's much more going on that I was aware of," Carlisle sighed from where he sat at the head of the table. "This meeting has been a long time coming." He looked at Alice. "You told me that when we were all together again—including Edward and Bella—you'd tell us about the visions you've been having. I've respected your decisions, right down to not taking Edward's calls this afternoon."

He glanced at Edward apologetically before turning back to Alice. "We've all believed in your ability, trusted in you to take care of our household, as you always have, but it's time to come clean on all matters. A house divided against itself cannot stand. We've been divided long enough. If Maria is around, we can't afford to be."

Maria seemed to have quite the reputation.

Alice wriggled in her seat like a nervous human. "I'm sorry about everything. Stuff hasn't gone…exactly like I thought it would. There have been too many variables…"

"Just start from the top," Carlisle suggested gently.

"Okay, but you all have to understand… Everything I've done has been for the greater good. I've had to weigh decisions—"

"Oh, spit it out already," Rosalie said.

"It's complex. Everything depends on everything else. Jasper can't forgive himself, can't let go of his past, without Edward being in his life."

Jasper eyes darted over everyone at the table, clearly uncomfortable. "Alice…"

"Well, it's _true_," she insisted, looking at him. "Edward's the key to your letting go of your guilt—you're going to be the best of friends—and I've tried so hard to bring him into our family—for decades—but every time I saw one of you _dying_ when you met."

"Sounds like an awesome friendship," Emmett laughed.

Alice ignored him. "I didn't know why, but your meeting was always chaotic and ended with one of your futures being gone…forever. I understand now, of course…"

"Understand what?" Carlisle asked.

Frowning, Jasper sat up a little straighter. "It would appear I accidentally sired Edward in the 1920s."

"I see," Carlisle said blandly, exchanging a glance with Esme as Emmett let out a whistle of surprise. He asked Alice, "So this is why you had us putting family photos in the attic?"

She nodded. "Bella changed everything in time, though. I _knew_ she would."

"Me? What do I have to do with anything?"

"You're the keystone," she said with a smile. "Without your presence when they met, one of them died. Always. There was no exception to that. They still fought—I think I could have prevented that if Jasper had stayed inside a little longer—but no one died." She looked over at Carlisle and Esme, her expression guilty. "Everything had to work a certain way, at a certain time.

"That's why I insisted we move to Forks in 2003. We needed to be here for everything to work out. Edward had to meet Bella, and he needed to know her for a while before my visions changed into something less…final for either him or Jasper."

"Why 2003?" I asked. "I moved to Forks to be with Charlie in _2005_, and Edward and I just met a few months ago."

"I've been busy," she said, smiling slightly—almost tiredly. "I needed to lay the foundation for your arrival; I didn't know when that would be, as you first started thinking about moving here in 2003. You were making decisions that made it hard for me to pinpoint when you'd arrive." Alice looked at me straight on. "And it's a good thing we came early. You almost _died_ in that car accident you had when you were seventeen. The only reason you didn't was because Carlisle was here to work on you."

"I didn't almost die," I protested, touching the ragged scar on the right side of my face. "It wasn't that bad." A sinking feeling gnawed at my stomach, and I looked at Carlisle. "_Right_?"

"Charlie didn't want you to know. He thought it would upset you."

"What happened to me?" I could only remember waking in the hospital.

"With it being a head injury, you lost a lot of blood, and…you had a reaction to one of the drugs we were giving you. I was able to keep you stable, only because I recognized signs of the reaction early."

"You saved my life." A chill ran through me. Edward seemed to feel it too, as his grip on my hand tightened.

There was something I had to ask, something that suddenly fell into place after seeing the speed at which Edward and Jasper had fought, the way their bodies had blurred with every motion. I hadn't thought of my scar in a while—Edward didn't mind it, and it no longer embarrassed me—but it was like it was burning now, burning with the need to _know_. "Was it… I _did_ see something that day, didn't I?" I asked Carlisle. "The day of the accident. That wasn't a hallucination, was it?"

Carlisle hesitated, but then shook his head.

"It was a vampire, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry to have misled you, Bella, but we had to keep our secret."

"At the time, we had no idea that you'd play a role in our family," Esme added. "Alice never told us."

"I couldn't," Alice said quietly.

I sat very still, feeling numb. I _hadn't_ been crazy. I _had_ seen a red-haired woman running across the road that morning, and I'd swerved to avoid hitting her. She hadn't just been a woman, though. She'd been a vampire.

"It was actually Sam Uley who saved you at first," Alice said.

"Huh? Sam? From the rez?"

She nodded. "He's the werewolves' pack leader. He's told us that he was chasing the vampire who crossed your path on the highway. He stopped long enough to call in your accident, and she got away. When I had a vision of you in the hospital, I made sure Carlisle was involved with your care."

_Werewolves…_ I still struggled with that one.

What if the Cullens hadn't been in the area? What if Carlisle hadn't been my doctor? Would Charlie have buried me, only to die of cancer a few years later? Or would the future have taken a different path, one where he didn't get cancer? Where I died, but he lived? Did the universe have such a balance? So many possible scenarios… How did Alice keep up with them all? _No wonder her visions are flawed_, I thought. _She spreads herself too thin, tries to keep up with too much at one time._

It made me worry about our future.

"So what does this have to do with Maria?" Rosalie's patience was wearing thin.

"All of it's connected," Alice said. "Maria's wanted to come back for Jasper for a long time."

"She tried in the last decade, though," Emmett said. "She seemed cool with letting Jasper do his own thing then. What gives?"

"That was only a temporary reprieve she was giving me," Jasper said, shaking his head.

Edward exchanged a knowing look with Jasper. "That's how she works," he agreed. "She's a persistent recruiter."

"She always favored the gifted vamps. So she wants you both, then, huh?" Emmett concluded.

Jasper and Edward nodded.

"And now she's got an army," Alice said.

Esme gasped. "An army!"

"All the disappearances in Seattle," Carlisle said, wide-eyed.

"Don't forget Portland," Edward added.

"Why?" Esme asked. "She controls the whole of Mexico. What can she possibly want with this area? It's awfully far from her other territory."

"She's helping the Volturi," Edward answered. "Or so she says." He frowned.

"The _Volturi_?" Carlisle echoed in surprise. "What do they have to do with this?"

It was the first they'd been mentioned to the Cullens, and Jasper looked worried. I felt my own panic escalate with his.

"Maria claims that they're in support of her tactics," Edward said, "that she's here on their business to set up a North American governmental branch. She says she's been given instruction to clear the area of any vampires that might compete against her force; that includes your family."

"Maria, against _us_?" Esme said. "But we haven't done anything to provoke her or the Volturi! Is it true, Alice?"

Alice frowned. "I don't…think it's true, but I'm not sure. I see nothing in any of our futures that suggests the Volturi will be involved."

Beside me, Edward's shoulders slumped slightly as he relaxed.

"This doesn't seem like something the Volturi would do," Carlisle added. "They're very careful, and they like to remain in control. I struggle to believe they'd want to branch out and give power to someone else—particularly a former enemy."

"Yeah, it's not their style," Jasper agreed. "And they're all about subtlety."

"So she's lying," Edward concluded. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Maybe," Jasper said, "but it's Maria. You can't be sure. If she's not involved with the Volturi, this is one of her games. She enjoys conquests. She may even be hoping to _compete_ against the Volturi. She was angry when they set her straight last time."

The idea hung in the air. I didn't know a whole lot about the Volturi, but the thought of anyone considering fighting them seemed like a suicide mission. Edward had been told over the years that they recruited gifted vampires almost exclusively.

What havoc would a vampire war wreak on the human world?

"So now what?" Emmett asked.

"We can't just let her keep killing so many innocent people," Esme said to Carlisle.

"No, we can't."

Rosalie huffed. "Well, I, for one, _can_. I say we pack up and leave. This isn't _our_ business, and if the Volturi _are_ involved, we don't want to get in the middle of it. Let them battle it out if they want."

Carlisle shook his head. "We're already in the middle of it, Rosalie, quite literally. And usually I would say this is the sort of matter one would contact the Volturi about. If I do contact them, what do you see, Alice?"

Alice stared off as she navigated the future. "They'll say they don't know about it," she answered a moment later, "but I can't tell if that's true or not. I don't think you should contact them, though. They might pay us a visit then." She glanced at Edward and me.

They hadn't kept their secret from me, a human, an outsider. They'd broken the law to include me in their lives.

"Can't you just look into _their_ future?" I asked.

She shook her head. "My visions are never very clear unless I know the person—and I've never met them. I can only see what they might do that would directly affect those I know. Even when I do know people, there are a lot of things that can change an outcome when something as big as this is going on."

So we were flying blind.

"We'll have to inform the wolves of this," Carlisle said. "They'll want to protect their land from any possible newborns that might pass through. We'll hunt in pairs only."

Silence settled over the eight of us as our situation weighed on us.

Finally, Esme spoke, "How could you not tell us, Alice?"

"I'm sorry," Alice whispered, looking down at her lap. "I just can't lose any of you. You're all important to me. Edward and Bella had to meet, so Edward and Jasper could. We'll all be a family—more complete than ever before."

"That's a nice thought, but people have been hurt," Esme said.

"I know. Maria was just…she was unexpected, and I didn't even know it was her behind what was happening in Seattle and Portland until a couple of months ago. The timing's been all wrong…"

"You've known for _two months_?" Jasper asked in disbelief. "And you never told me?"

"I just wanted to protect you. You would have come here if you'd known about her."

"You're damn right I would have." Jasper's face contorted with his anger. "Were you _protecting_ me when you told me I had to stay in Alaska, because I couldn't be around Charlie or Bella because of my thirst?"

Alice closed her eyes. "Yes."

"It looks like you were protecting _Edward_."

"I was protecting _both_ of you."

"It's not your job to protect me from my past."

"Okay, this has been fun," Rosalie interrupted dryly, "but I'm going upstairs to pack. You all can get involved with Maria and newborn vampires and the Volturi, but _I'm_ not." She got up from her chair, looking at Emmett.

"Rosie," Emmett said. "Sit. We both know we aren't going anywhere."

"No," she snapped, "I'm not doing it this time. Not when Alice has been trying to decide our future for us. _Again_. Even Jasper's! And for _what_?" She turned a critical eye on Edward. "So we can have some brother we never asked for? And just why the hell did _we_ have to live in Alaska for that to happen?"

"You and Emmett couldn't be here," Alice replied quietly. "It would have made Jasper more suspicious, and you wouldn't have hidden your thoughts from Edward—"

"Oh, _great_, a mind reader."

"—as well as Carlisle and Esme did."

"Believe me when I say I don't want to be in your head, either," Edward said to Rosalie.

"I think Alice regrets what she's done," Emmett said quickly, trying to diffuse another argument. "I mean, you're not hiding anything now, are you, Alice?"

Alice paused. It wasn't even a long pause, but to the vampires at the table, it must have been. The table erupted with sudden accusations. Everyone, even Esme, was angry at Alice.

"Haven't you learned _anything_ from this?"

"God, what else could be happening?"

"Alice, you need to tell us everything that's going on."

Edward stood and pulled me up with him.

"What is it?" I asked.

He tugged on my fingers. "Let's go back to the living room."

I followed him, confused but willing to leave behind the loud argument that—for some—had devolved to petty name-calling. _Definitely a family meeting_, I thought. Then I heard a growl. _Okay. Definitely a _vampire_ family meeting._

"What's wrong?" I asked again, once we'd sat on a couch. Edward was tense.

"I don't like you being near them when they're like that."

"What? Angry?"

He nodded once.

"They have a right to be angry, I'm thinking. Besides, you're angry, too. They wouldn't hurt me, you know."

He raised a brow. "Maybe not Carlisle or Esme or Alice—but what about Jasper?" he asked, glancing at his torn clothing. "He isn't unused to fighting. Do you really know him and the others so well? You've never spoken of them."

"I… No," I admitted. "Not really. They just went to school with me, like Alice did."

"That's what I thought." He shook his head. "I don't like this, Bella. I thought I was coming to tell the Cullens about Maria, but it seems Alice has known all along. And then there's Jasper and…more vampires than I was expecting in the Cullen _family_." Though he contained it, I felt the rumble of a growl in his ribs, from where I was pressed close to his side. "I want to take you away from here. Take you somewhere safe."

"You'd tuck me away in some fallout shelter if you could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "That's Plan C."

I picked at a tear in his jeans. "Can't we wait until tomorrow before we implement any of your plans?"

"Why? I can get us out of here. We can be on a plane in hours. We'll go anywhere you want. You've talked about seeing Stonehenge once—and about Moscow. I've never been to either. I'd love to go with you."

It was a nice thought, roaming the world with Edward. I'd always feared I might die in Washington as some book-loving spinster, and here Edward offered a pleasant dream. But even if the thought was nice, we couldn't go now.

"What's changed your mind? You said yourself that Maria might follow us."

He sighed and rested his head against mine. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "Nothing seems safe, and it's my past that's brought this upon us. I knew… I should never have—"

"Don't start blaming yourself. What's done is done, okay? It's not your fault that some crazy ex has come back from the grave." I cringed at my choice of words. "Uh, you know what I mean. Let's just sleep on it."

Edward chuckled darkly. "You don't know how much I wish I could." He sighed again. "Fine, we'll wait until tomorrow before making any decisions."

The argument in the dining room seemed to come to a crescendo at the sound of a chair toppling to the floor. Alice came rushing through the living room. Jasper, Carlisle and Esme followed closely behind, worried expressions on their faces. Rosalie and Emmett hovered at the edge of the dining room.

"Alice?" I questioned. Edward shook his head at me. "What's going on?"

Alice threw open the front door, but at the last minute, she turned around and faced everyone. "None of you understand what it's like," she said in a choked up voice. "The choices I have to make."

Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. She looked angry and hurt and—chillingly—uncertain.

"You think that just because I can see _possible_ futures means that I know everything—that nothing should ever go wrong."

"No one thinks that, dear. No one expects you to be perfect," Esme said gently. "But this is beyond us now. Innocent lives are at stake. So many have been hurt already."

"You think I don't know that? _I_ get to watch Maria kill some of them herself. I could either choose them or one of you—I chose you all! And I didn't even know _Edward_ had a past with her, too! I can't predict everything or be everywhere at once or make everything right. You say you don't expect that, but you _do_. And I try to make everything right, but there's too much." She brought a hand up to her head.

"Alice, let's calm down," Carlisle implored. He waved a hand. "Close the door. Come back inside."

"I _can't_." Alice shook her head. "I'm going hunting," she said, then turned and ran away.

"Alice, wait!" Jasper stepped forward to follow her, but then he stopped, frowning. He glanced at Edward, his brows pulled together.

"Stay," Rosalie said to Jasper. "I can…pack later." Giving Emmett a quick kiss, she took off after Alice. I watched her blurred, running form through the large glass windows at the front of the house.

Jasper collapsed into a chair at the same time Emmett did. A sense of weary frustration passed through the room.

"Hell of a day, huh?" Emmett said.

"You could say that," Jasper said, looking outside, as if he hoped to see Alice returning.

Edward was looking at Jasper.

_I'm definitely not the only one overwhelmed_, I thought, and had the distinct impression that this was the most Alice had ever hidden from the rest of the Cullens. She'd gone too far this time. She'd hidden whole people.

She'd hidden murder.

If they didn't know Alice, did I really know her? But then I thought of the girl who'd cleaned my father's kitchen with me. She'd helped me find my way back to Edward. I knew her.

Still, an uncomfortable knot worried at my stomach. Despite the "family meeting," nothing was settled, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that Alice still knew more than she was letting on. And I didn't know if that was okay or not.

* * *

"Well, _of course_ you're both going to stay here while things get sorted," Esme said, patting Edward's shoulder as she passed where he sat beside me on one of the kitchen barstools. She went to the freezer and leaned into it, rummaging. "What would you like to eat?" she asked me.

"Eat? Oh, no, you don't have to make me anything. Really, I'm not hungry."

Who could be hungry on a day like this one?

She waved a hand and pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables. "It's no trouble. Besides," she laughed, "if I don't do _something_, I'm going to lose it."

_That_ I could understand, and didn't protest any further as Esme set to work. In no time, there was pan-fried chicken, broccoli and carrots. It was unfair that vampire speed was so useful in the kitchen.

Emmett wandered in at some point. "Dude, that smell. It's worse than old corpse."

Did a vampire know what that smelled like? I held back a shiver.

"If you don't like it, you can get out of the kitchen," Edward said, his arm wrapping around me more tightly.

"Is he always this moody?" Emmett asked me.

I bit back a smile. "Sometimes."

Carlisle and Jasper entered the kitchen. Jasper tossed a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt onto the countertop in front of Edward. "Yours are looking a bit worse for the wear."

A peace offering.

Edward stared at the clothing. "I was in such a hurry to get Bella that I didn't pack anything." He looked up at Jasper, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

Jasper nodded.

"You have a plan," Edward said, sounding surprised.

"A tentative one," Jasper replied.

"About Maria? What is it?" I asked. "What are we going to do?"

"_You're_ not doing anything," Edward said quickly, giving me a look that suggested I better not argue with him on this matter.

I did, in fact, want to argue, but I knew I had no leg to stand on. What good was a human in a vampire fight?

Maybe if he changed me sooner…

"We'll track the information being released through the news and police reports," Jasper said. "If we work carefully and quickly, we can systematically eliminate the newborns."

"You have experience with them," Edward said, clearly picking through Jasper's thoughts.

Jasper huffed a laugh. "You could say I've earned my fair share of battle scars dealing with newborns."

He didn't look scarred to me.

He shook his head. "Anyhow, hopefully taking out the newborns will keep us from dealing with the Volturi. Like I said earlier, I can't imagine they're behind this."

"So…we're gonna fight them?" Emmett sounded far too eager.

"Don't think it'll be easy," Jasper warned. "They're strong."

"I am too," Emmett said, dramatically flexing a massive bicep.

"Stronger than you," Jasper clarified.

"Fighting?" Esme said to Carlisle in dismay. "Is that really a solution?"

Carlisle looked at me. "We can't have the Volturi here. If they aren't involved, and we can do anything to prevent their coming, we need to do so. They'd execute Edward for his transgressions. Keeping our secret is of the utmost importance to them."

I dropped my fork. Edward caught it halfway to the floor. "No one ever told me it was that serious!" I spluttered.

"I didn't want to worry you," Edward said quietly. He laid the fork down on my napkin.

"It looks like I needed to be worried!" A sense of calmness suddenly swept over me, and I slumped against the back of the barstool.

Edward had the audacity to nod at Jasper in gratitude.

"Oh, what, now you two are friends?" I asked petulantly.

Emmett laughed. "It's gonna be fun having you around, Bella. You, too, Edward."

Rosalie returned to the house a few minutes later, sauntering into the kitchen, her nose turning up as she passed my half-cleared dinner plate. She sat on Emmett's knee and wrapped her arms around his neck. Alice wasn't with her.

Jasper's brow furrowed. "Where's Alice?"

Rosalie shrugged a shoulder. "She said she wanted some time to herself—time to think."

Jasper stood, looking worried. "How could you leave her alone out there? You heard Carlisle—hunting in pairs. I should go find her." He walked quickly to the front door.

"Oh, leave her be," Rosalie said. "Alice can take care of herself."

"Maria—"

"—can't outsmart a psychic," she said. "Look, I know you want to believe Alice when she says she didn't see things coming—and maybe she didn't see _everything_ about you and Edward—but nothing surprises her entirely." Rosalie glanced at everyone in the room. "What? We all know it's true. We've been living with her for fifty years."

"I'm sure she's fine," Carlisle agreed, attempting to soothe Jasper. "But it would have been good to wait for her, Rosalie. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"Maria has nothing on Alice," Rosalie said. "She'll be fine. Let her feel her guilt for a while. I for one think she _deserves_ to feel guilty for a little while. Look at what she's put us through."

Jasper let out a loud sigh, sounding tired for a creature who didn't need sleep. "You're right. She was upset when she left. I should…give her time to think. But when she gets back, we're going to have a nice, long talk."

* * *

Somehow, the Cullens were content to act like things were somewhat normal. They were maybe angry at Alice, but I noticed they were reluctant to make any decisions without her. She was right. They did depend on her, even now, in the face of her deception.

Edward and Jasper had begun talking. Their conversation was stilted sometimes or turned to bitterness, but from a distance, I saw how alike they were. Alice was right about that, too.

While they talked, I showered in one of the upstairs guest bathrooms, trying to stay calm. If I thought too much about everything, I got the shakes.

What would my father think of this life I was living, of the choices I was making?

I longed for there to be a human around who understood me like he had; I maybe didn't need long talks, but I needed human companionship. But Lauren was gone, and Angela was always busy. And now I had to fear that I might bring them into the middle of all this.

_Face it. It's just you and the vamps_.

I dressed in pajamas. We were staying with the Cullens for the night. Safety in numbers, Edward said. For now. He wasn't sure of what tomorrow would bring.

I was towel-drying my hair when my phone vibrated atop the mahogany dresser. I wasn't prepared for the series of text messages I'd received.

**From: Alice C.**  
**I know you don't think I deserve it, but please, please, please have faith in me. I *know* what I'm doing. Don't let anyone follow me. Take out the newborns, but don't let Edward fight. He sucks. I'll keep Maria busy. It's the only way. P.S. - Delete this and don't tell the others.**

"Bella?" Edward called. The bedroom door creaked open.

And I panicked. The phone went flying out of my hand, crashing into a small mirror that was on a stand on the dresser. Both the phone and the mirror went tumbling to the floor with a crash.

"Shit!" I bent to grab the phone and start cleaning up my mess, but Edward hissed and pulled me away.

"What are you _thinking_?" he growled.

Being yanked away from something at vampire speed was disorienting. I looked up at him, dumbfounded, even as my heart raced. "Huh?"

"We're in a house full of _vampires_," he reminded me, his fingers gripping my shoulders tightly. "It would be wise not to go picking up shards of glass."

My eyes widened. "Oh, God, I'm sorry… I didn't think."

"No, you didn't," he said softly as he let me go. "And you have far too much faith in my own control."

I touched his hand. "Blood doesn't come between us, remember?"

"_Your_ blood is different. It's tried to come between us on several occasions. Let's not test your theory over a broken mirror. Better yet, let's not test your theory at all."

"What about when you change me? I mean, you'll have to bite me…"

He stilled, a shy smile on his lips as he regarded me. "When the time comes, it will be a very controlled environment, I assure you."

"A sterilized room with padded walls?" I joked.

"Something like that."

We hadn't discussed the _when_ part of my change very much yet. I was beginning to wonder if we'd need to move on that sooner, rather than later. Being amongst vampires, apparently a bunch of whom didn't subscribe to the Cullens' and Edward's dietary choice, didn't seem like the healthiest place for a human to be.

_And here I go trying to pick up broken glass around them._ _Genius_.

But one thing was certain. Edward could _not_ see what Alice had written.

He bent to retrieve my cell phone. "You can leave it," I blurted out, sounding guilty.

"What?" His hand was poised just above the device. "Nonsense. Glass won't hurt me."

He picked it up, and my heart went into overdrive. _The message_, my heart beat. _The message. The message. The message._

It wasn't deleted. _Oh, God, he's going to see it. I'm going to fail Alice. Everyone is going to die because of me!_

But as he lifted the phone, he also picked up the battery, which had popped out with the fall. The screen was black without power; there was nothing for him to see. I let out a loud, relieved sigh. He glanced at me, one brow quirked up, no doubt studying my pulse rate and everything else that was giving me away.

"You all right?"

"Fine," I mumbled.

He replaced the battery, blew at the screen several times and studied it beneath lamplight, turning it this way and that. "All clear," he announced, snapping the phone shut before handing it to me. I took it with a shaking hand, which he would have noticed, had he not been looking at the broken mirror. Or maybe he did notice and was just polite enough not to mention it. I had plenty of reasons for shaking after this day.

"What is it?" I asked.

Edward snorted. "Seven years' bad luck, some would say."

I breathed out an uncomfortable laugh as I stared at the shattered glass with him. "Let's hope they're wrong," I said.

_And hope Alice isn't._

I cast my lot and deleted the messages. Out of all of us, Alice was the only one who _might_ know what was actually going on. And, well, I owed her, because, in a way, she'd given me Edward.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ Hope you're all reading and voting for your favorite entries in the Canon Tour! You have through the 14th to do so!_


	28. Speed Is the Essence of War

**_Author's Notes (September 24, 2011):_**_ Thanks to **Aleeab4u**, **duskwatcher2153**, **GreatChemistry** and **smexy4smarties**. Things make more sense now._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ None. Do you know how hard it is to find good pictures of the Cullens?_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm28-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 28: SPEED IS THE ESSENCE OF WAR**

* * *

_"Speed is the essence of war. Take advantage of the enemy's unpreparedness;_  
_travel by unexpected routes and strike him where he has taken no precautions."_

_From Sun Tzu's "The Art of War"_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
I woke with a start, my leg muscles twitching.

A cool hand ran down my side. "Shh, it's all right," Edward whispered along my neck. "You're safe. Go back to sleep."

I tried, but I couldn't shake faded images of being lost in a cold, dark forest; it was a nightmare like so many others I'd had since the summer, lonely and deadly.

Caught somewhere between waking and the strange aftereffects of nightmarish dreams, I stared at a speck on the wall. Edward began to hum my lullaby, a darker, more foreboding rendition of it than usual, but not even his music could blot out the noisy argument happening elsewhere in the house.

"Is that Jasper yelling?"

"He's angry with Rosalie," Edward answered, his breath tickling my ear. "Alice hasn't returned, and she's not answering calls."

This news woke me the rest of the way, reminding me of the text messages I'd received from Alice. She was with Maria, I had no doubt of it. "Keeping her busy," whatever that meant. Thoughts of what it _could_ mean, along with everything else going on, had kept me awake for hours, and now it was only five in the morning according to the bedside clock. I hoped Alice wasn't putting herself in danger to protect the rest of us, but I couldn't know for sure.

_…please, please, please have faith in me_, she'd written.

Was I doing the right thing? Why did she have to tell _me_? Did she tell me everything she needed to?

_No_. I forced myself to stop worrying. I had to believe she'd told me everything we had to do—no more or less. What else could I believe?

There was the sound of something breaking—a glass vase, maybe—then more yelling, this time from a higher-pitched voice that could only be Rosalie's. Whatever was being said and done made Edward nervous. His grip on me tightened as he pulled me closer to his chest.

_Maybe I should tell them what Alice is doing._

Alice's deception was what had led to some of the problems we faced. Of course, she seemed to think that she'd done what was necessary to prevent other, darker outcomes. Like Jasper or Edward's dying at the other's hand.

I kept my mouth shut.

"Can't sleep?" Edward asked.

I shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. I feel like we should be doing something."

"I talked to them for a couple of hours after you fell asleep. I've told them all I know—all Maria may or may not have been telling me. Jasper and Carlisle were going to try to track down the newborns' movements through news articles and police reports, but only Carlisle and Esme are working on it. The others, well, they've been at it for the last half hour."

There was more yelling. "We shouldn't be fighting amongst ourselves," I whispered.

Edward sighed. "This is what large covens are like, Bella. They're prone to infighting."

I turned over to face him. His golden eyes seemed to pick up the light of the room and glow like an animal's. _How did I ever think he was human?_ "The Cullens aren't _just_ a coven," I said, brushing hair away from his forehead.

"Oh?" He sounded amused. "You're an expert on what covens are like now?"

"No," I admitted, "but I know the Cullens are more than that, at least from what you tell me. They're a family, even if they are arguing right now—maybe even _because_ they're arguing right now. You know it too." He pursed his lips, and I leaned in, kissing them quickly. "Come on. Let's go see if we can help." I couldn't lie in bed with my fears and guilt.

The sofa in the living room had been tipped over, and there was glass on the hardwood floor, making me thankful Edward had told me to put on jeans and sneakers before coming downstairs.

Three frazzled vampires stood in the middle of the material mayhem. They turned troubled, black eyes our way as we descended the stairs.

Edward stood in front of me and commented, "Rosalie didn't have any ill intentions."

"_See_?" Emmett said to Jasper. He stood by Rosalie like a club bouncer, his arms crossed over his barrel chest.

"You don't know what she's _feeling_," Jasper snapped at both Edward and Emmett. He turned to Rosalie. "I never should have let you go after Alice."

"I was worried about her!"

"Not worried enough to see her home! And underneath your worry, you were right infuriated!"

"Oh, as if you _weren't_," Rosalie scoffed. "That's why you let me go. You were too pissed off to go after her yourself. Your _pride_ was wounded after she'd been hiding Edward for months without your knowing, and you're only willing to overlook that now because you feel guilty about not following her yourself."

Jasper's eyes narrowed. "I think you told her we didn't want her."

"I would never do that!"

"She didn't," Edward said in her defense, finally bringing us into the heated conversation. "That's not how she remembers it, at least."

"_You_ stay out of it," Jasper growled, pointing a finger at Edward. "You're part of the problem."

"All right, everyone, calm down," a firm voice said, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Carlisle and Esme stood together on the other side of the living room, their hands clasped between them. "Everyone is welcome here, and I don't believe anyone has had ill intentions toward another. Mistakes—sometimes terrible ones—do happen. Now, while you three were arguing—"

"And tearing up the family room," Esme said.

"—we've managed to get an idea of the newborns' movement through Portland and Seattle, but we could use Jasper's strategic expertise when it comes to more accurately analyzing the data."

"And what about Alice?" Jasper asked quietly. Now that he wasn't so angry, he just seemed worried and upset.

"You said you'd give her until dawn to return," Esme answered. "The sun's not up yet."

"It's _almost_ dawn," Emmett said, and Rosalie shot him a glare.

"She's likely giving everyone time to calm down and forgive her," Carlisle said.

"But she's not answering her phone." Jasper pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket and stared at the screen, a deep frown on his face. "I've tried to get her at least a dozen times. She _always_ answers my calls."

"You know reception sucks in the wilderness, though," Emmett said. "Maybe she's gone up in the mountains."

With the emotions in the room calming, Edward allowed me to slip to his side as he added, "I hate to voice the thought, but it is on everyone's mind. What if Maria has Alice? She did seem interested in her." He grimaced. "I may have helped with that. I didn't know how else to deal with her."

Jasper let out a low, anguished growl, the inhuman sound of a pained animal. Rosalie looked down at her shoes, a pair of leather, high-heeled boots.

Esme tried to remain hopeful. "I'm sure Alice will turn up this morning."

I wanted so badly to tell them what Alice was up to—what I knew, at least—but that might do more harm than good. _Don't tell the others_, Alice's last text message had said. It was easier said than done when so many were worried about her and looking for comfort or answers.

Jasper was shaking his head. "No matter what Maria said," he started, looking at Edward, "Alice doesn't interest her. Alice's gift makes Maria uncomfortable, even if she thinks it could be handy. She's always feared Alice could get the better of her. Anyhow, she knows Alice is _my_ ally, not hers. God forbid she's taken her, but if she has, it's a move against me, I reckon."

"You can't go after Alice if Maria has her," Edward said. "That's what Maria would want. Judging by your memories of the past, you were…useful to her."

I wondered what that meant exactly as Jasper looked away in discomfort. It was almost strange how quickly he and Edward had come to understand one another, at least on some points; they had experienced similar things throughout the years—things maybe no one else would ever understand.

Argument laid to rest, Rosalie and Emmett began to clean up the mess in the living room. As if it weighed nothing, Emmett righted the sofa with a single hand while Rosalie brushed shards of glass into a dustpan she'd speedily acquired from another room. Jasper watched them work without helping, his eyes troubled.

"What did you find?" he asked Carlisle and Esme a moment later. He stood straighter suddenly and clasped his hands behind his back.

"The disappearances in Seattle seem to be concentrated in the Southeast," Carlisle answered. "And they're in the Northeastern neighborhoods of Portland."

Jasper launched into a series of questions then, asking how many humans had disappeared, versus how many had turned up dead. Before long, a couple of roadmaps were spread out on the dining table. Jasper and Edward leaned over them, placing stickers from what was apparently one of Alice's craft baskets on the towns that Carlisle and Esme told them had been affected. While addressing a crisis, Edward and Jasper worked well together.

"Thirty, all total," Jasper said some minutes later. He sat down in a chair, the antique wood creaking beneath his weight.

"Thirty newborns?" Esme asked in alarm.

Edward nodded. "Give or take a few, perhaps."

We were silent as we stared at the pink- and yellow-dotted map; pink meant "dead," while yellow meant "missing." The stickers had smiley faces on them, making the map look disturbingly cheery, considering. I wished they'd used a red pen to mark the locations instead.

"That's not as bad as I was thinking," I said, aiming for positivity, from where I stood behind Edward's chair. "With so many murders and disappearances reported, and so many others probably _unreported_, I thought there must be at least a hundred."

"That's because you don't know newborns," Jasper replied. "It only takes a small army to do substantial damage. They're vicious and incredibly powerful physically for the first year or so of their existence. They can crush older vampires with ease."

I paled under the description. "So what _can_ be done?"

Jasper smiled thinly—a dark smile that nearly made me shiver. "There are ways to defeat them. No doubt some of our work will be done for us; they kill each other off sometimes."

"That's _awful_," Esme murmured.

Jasper shrugged a shoulder. "They're slaves to their thirst and only worried about their next meal. It makes them predictable, though, so that's good. The fact that they're split between Portland and Seattle helps, too. So long as the two groups don't come together, they're easier to take in stages."

He turned to Edward. "You told us Maria said she would return in three days. If we can clear out some or all of her army in that time, dealing with her won't be a problem."

"We shouldn't act in haste," Carlisle cautioned. "We don't know that Maria has Alice."

Jasper rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"Let's see if our Alaskan cousins will help us with the newborns in Seattle," Carlisle continued. "Whether the Volturi are behind this or not, it's clear that Maria is behaving aggressively for _some_ reason; it's in their interest to defeat her as well, and the thought of six of us going against thirty or more, even if they're split up… The odds aren't in our favor."

Rosalie snorted. "The Denalis will hardly help. We'll _still_ be outnumbered."

"There are the wolves," Carlisle suggested hesitantly.

Edward laughed. "You can't possibly be considering involving _them_."

"I don't think I could work beside the _stench_," Rosalie agreed.

"They have a right to know what's going on if they don't already," Carlisle said. "They'll want to protect their people; it's their duty. And they _could_ help us, perhaps. The best defense is a good offense, after all. I'd rather we not have to work with them, but this is apparently within their skill set."

"Killing vampires, you mean," Edward said dryly.

Carlisle's eyes squinted in amusement. "I seem to recall your telling me once that we were already dead, which would mean we _can't_ be killed. I'm pleased to see your opinion has changed."

"The sun's rising," Jasper whispered. His words brought Edward and Carlisle's morbid banter to an end.

We glanced at each other, then to the outside, where the sky was lightening into a dull, grey morning. The world seemed cold and bleak beyond the warmth of the dining room.

_Alice is out there. Somewhere._

Wordlessly setting his cell phone to speaker, Jasper tried calling Alice again. We stared at the phone where he'd placed it over the roadmap on the table, waiting and listening. Even I did, knowing she probably wouldn't answer.

_"You've reached Alice Cullen! If you're trying to contact me about a design you purchased from Etsy—"_

When her voicemail message closed with the sound of a tone, Jasper ended the call.

I wondered how he was interpreting my feelings of guilt and uncertainty.

Jaw set, fingers curled to make fists, Jasper declared, "We move out as soon as it's feasible. With or without the wolves."

_Take out the newborns_, Alice had instructed. It was already falling into place. Had she known it would? Had she told me everything I needed to know? Why did I need to know?

Carlisle put a hand on Jasper's shoulder. "She's all right. Don't assume the worst in times of trouble."

"Maria has her. I know it. I _feel_ it." He radiated anger.

And he was right. I didn't know how he knew, but he knew.

_Don't let anyone follow me_, she'd written. But who could stop a vampire if his heart was set on doing just that? Jasper looked like he was barely keeping himself from going after her now.

"If Maria wants a war," Jasper said, his voice cold, "I'll give her one."

Even as the hairs on my arms rose, no one argued with him this time, not even Rosalie. The Cullens weren't just a coven. They were a family who looked after their own.

* * *

A few hours later, I was bundled up in a coat and in the woods near a supposed (and invisible to me) boundary line between the Cullens' and Quileutes' territories. At Carlisle's request, Edward had agreed to use his gift to determine the wolves' stance on everything. I went—or, really, I was carried, but didn't like to think about that after how much Emmett had teased me. Apparently I wouldn't be allowed out of Edward's sight now that Alice had been "abducted."

The woods were still, but not in the usual sense of winter stillness. I'd noticed more than a few times now that Edward and the Cullens seemed to scare away the animals who were instinctive enough to know not to get too close—all except Lucky, anyway. There was no skittering sound, no blackbird calling, as we waited for the Quileutes to arrive.

My breath rose up in a hazy mist above my head, and I imagined I could hear my heart in the silence. One beating heart among six still ones. I felt out of place, but it also felt like I should be in this with the others. Why else would Alice contact me, instead of Jasper?

Two figures appeared in the distance, eventually taking on the familiar forms and faces of Sam and Jacob. Despite the cold, they were shirtless and barefoot, only wearing sweats that had been raggedly cut at the knee to make shorts. Where my side of the border was still as death, theirs radiated life and warmth, including the temperamental heat of anger. I could tell by the way Jacob's shoulders shook, he didn't want to be here. He _hated_ being here.

The last time we'd spoken had been at Charlie's funeral, when he'd tried to warn me about Edward's true nature; I'd been sure that would be the last time I would see him, but I'd been wrong. And now I knew the truth, but the warning hadn't worked like he thought it would. From where he stood beside Sam, Jacob stared at me across the small distance, equal parts confused and disgusted.

_How could you choose this?_ his eyes seemed to ask.

_How could I not?_ was all I could think. Weeks ago, I'd given up trying to make sense of or deny the pull Edward had on me, the pull I was willing to die for.

Sam and Jacob hadn't come alone. I sucked in a breath when the others appeared. Bringing up the rear were five wolves—_massive_ wolves.

"Holy shit," I muttered, stumbling back a step to hide behind Edward's protective arm. He reached back and held my hand in reassurance, but I felt the rigidity of his body, the tense nervousness.

Like monsters from a child's night terrors, the wolves were grotesque and overgrown. Even on all fours, their backs reached to at least my height, their heads taller when raised. Large, canine faces sported long snouts, and sharp-looking fangs hung over wet, dark pink lips.

It showed how strange my life had become that I didn't scream or run or—worst of all—faint like some silly damsel. I just stared, my heart pumping hard. My brain was becoming better at rewiring itself to new, bizarre information. Somewhere, I knew, underneath layers of fur, were boys I'd sat at bonfires with, boys who had teased me and at one time loved me as their own.

Times change.

They only glared at me with dark eyes now, as confused and disgusted as Jacob. Even Sam, who I now knew had played an important role in saving my life, didn't look at me kindly. I was with an enemy—maybe not _the_ enemy, like the Cullens and Edward were thought to be, but definitely a kind of enemy. If I wasn't with them, I was against them.

Unsurprisingly, Jacob was the first who dared to speak. "You're hiding behind a bloodsucker like you're afraid of _us_?" A couple of wolves yipped at his words. "At least we're human."

They sure didn't look it, I thought.

"_Jacob_," Sam warned, his voice firm. He spoke to Carlisle, "We've come, vampire. What is it you want?"

Like Sam, Carlisle didn't bother with any pleasantries. He explained what was happening in Seattle and Portland with a doctor's efficiency, sparing no detail; he even told them of Maria and the Volturi. He presented the possible cure for our ails—and how the cure might injure or—worse—kill some. The wolves in the background didn't like it; they paced and snarled impatiently.

"This never would have happened if _you_ weren't here," Jacob growled at Carlisle. "Now the whole region's _crawling_ with leeches."

Before Carlisle could reply, I took a step away from Edward and argued, "That's not true. What Maria's doing isn't their fault."

"Bella." Edward tugged on my elbow. In my annoyance, I ignored him.

"Doesn't matter if this other vamp's their fault or not," Jacob said. "All bloodsuckers are alike. They should _all_ be torn apart and burned." He looked at Edward as he said that.

"Guess it's good your opinion doesn't count for much," Emmett replied.

"They aren't _bloodsuckers_!" It took everything in me not to stamp my foot.

Suddenly I was standing in front of Edward, my whole body quaking with my anger, the only thing keeping me from Jacob being a hand gripping firmly onto the back of my coat jacket. Distantly, I could hear Emmett laughing, but I was too angry to care.

How many _months_ had I dealt with these prejudices at my and Charlie's expense? Sure, it'd taken me a short time to get used to the Cullens' _otherness_ when I knew the truth, but the Quileutes had had _years_ to get to know them. They'd never even _tried_. Even seeing the Cullens' compassion at my father's deathbed hadn't been enough.

Jacob let out a loud laugh, and the wolf monsters behind him seemed to hiss in their own amusement. "Of course they're bloodsuckers. How do you think _he_ survives?" Jacob taunted, pointing at Edward. "They may only take animal life—so they _say_—but they still suck blood. They _steal life_."

As always, there was something about talking to Jacob that made me revert to the teenager I'd been when we'd dated. "You're _so stupid_!" I shouted. "What do you think you're doing when you eat a steak, Jacob? Or, hell, even vegetables!"

"That's different."

"It is not!"

"_Enough!_" Carlisle and Sam snapped at the same time.

"Now is not the time," Carlisle said.

Sam nodded. "Agreed."

I felt a sudden wave of calm tiredness settle over me—Jasper's doing, no doubt. I glared at him until I saw how weary he looked when he wasn't talking strategy.

_No_, I thought, _now really _isn't_ the time._ Not with Alice gone. And Emmett was right. Jacob's opinion didn't matter, anyway.

"I know it's asking a lot, but will you consider helping us?" Carlisle asked, bringing the conversation back to business. He gave all his attention to Sam, ignoring Jacob like one would ignore a disobedient child. "We want to act quickly to prevent any other newborns from being created."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared at each of the Cullens in thought. "I won't _make_ them help you," he said a moment later, glancing at one of the wolves to his right. "And if any of us _does_ want to help, I'll only allow a few to go. The majority of us will stay in La Push and protect our people. _They_ are our priority."

Jasper stepped forward to stand beside Carlisle. "You won't have any people to protect if too many newborns come this way. You need to try to fight them _before_ they get to your land. They aren't like the rest of us. They're stronger, faster. They strike harder and faster than any of us."

"We can handle them," Jacob said confidently. A wolf let out a low growl in what I could only guess was agreement.

Sam was older, wiser and less prone to bravado. "Some of the others might be eager to kill your kind—and I don't blame them—but the way I see it is she's not coming after _us_. This doesn't seem like our war."

"Maria may not be coming after you specifically," Jasper said, "but if she brings any of her newborns this way—and there's a chance she will—they won't be able to help themselves. They'll scour the whole area for human blood. Your land won't be immune."

"It will be well-protected, though."

"Only if you know how to fight them."

A look of annoyance passed over Sam's face as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sure we know more than would make you comfortable, but what do you suggest, vampire?"

"Let me show you how to defeat them. Those who want to help us after that can." He grimaced. "I can train you today, and we can leave tonight."

Sam was silent for a moment as he considered his options. Finally, he nodded. "Okay." More growls—different this time. Disapproval? "But it'll only be a few of us who help—if any—and if you mess with us during this…_training_, the treaty's off."

"I assure you we aren't misleading you in any way," Carlisle assured him calmly.

"Fine, okay. What about the girl?" Sam asked, his eyes flickering toward me.

_What about me?_

"She's with us," Carlisle replied.

Scowling, Sam started, "The treaty—"

"Doesn't take into account free will," Carlisle interrupted. "Bella is with us of her own volition. All the treaty says is that we must not bite a human. As you can see, she is alive and well under my family's protection." He turned his head and looked at me. "Of course, she is free to go with you, if she chooses. After all, she already knows our secrets." He looked at Jacob pointedly.

Jacob avoided Carlisle's stare. "This is nuts." Looking at me, he said, "Come on, Bella."

I shook my head. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Of course you are. We can keep you safe. We have patrols that run the whole perimeter—"

"_Jacob_," Sam growled again.

"What? You're just gonna let her stay with them?" Jacob's brows furrowed. "Bella, come with us. It's what Charlie would have wanted."

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but Edward beat me to it. Holding me close to his side, he said, "What Charlie wanted was for her to be with _me_."

Jacob's eyebrows shot up high. "That's not—"

"She's made her choice," Sam interrupted Jacob. "She's with them and isn't our concern any longer."

Though they shouldn't have, their rejection still stung. But Sam was speaking the truth: I'd made my choice—probably longer ago than I was willing to admit to myself. And I thought that being with Edward maybe _was_ what Charlie would want for me.

* * *

In a clearing, Jasper instructed the wolves on how to dispose of newborn vampires. It all seemed so brutal: his strict and capable teaching, which Edward explained came from his time as a major during the Civil War; the way the newborns were crazed and dangerous because of their insatiable thirst for human blood; the way wolves' teeth could easily pierce what seemed like impenetrable flesh; or how you had to _burn_ torn apart vampires to actually kill them.

I was pulled from my thoughts at the sound of growling as Jasper tried to spar with one of the wolves, a medium-sized beast of dark silver fur. The other Cullens, who were also participating in the training, moved in closer, coming together, in case their tenuous alliance was about to fall apart. Strangely, as soon as the commotion had begun, it ended, and the sparring took place as it was supposed to, giant wolves and inhumanly fast vampires practicing at attacking and defending. If the earth didn't tremble and shake with their inhuman play, I might have thought I was dreaming.

"What was that argument about?" I asked Edward in a whisper. We were sitting beneath a tree a little ways away, but I knew my voice could easily carry to supernatural ears. Maybe it still did.

"They become easily confused and frustrated that there's no good way to communicate with Jasper," he answered just as softly, his eyes watching the Cullens' movements. He was probably learning from them. "When they're in wolf form, they have a sort of…hive mind that allows them to communicate telepathically. It's very interesting. Very loud.

"When they're in human form, the link is broken, so there's no consistent form of communication; either they're cut off from each other or from Jasper. That's why you keep seeing Sam going in and out of the woods, back and forth, from man to wolf."

"Why don't you just, you know, _translate_ for them?"

"Carlisle wants to know their true thoughts, so it's best if they don't know of my ability. I've learned over the years that those who aren't human, and are aware of my ability, can be quite skilled at masking their thoughts, if they have enough desire to do so."

Ignoring the hypocrisy of my question, I asked, "Is keeping secrets really a good idea right now? We have to work with them." At his sharp glance, I rolled my eyes. "No need to lecture. I know. _You_ have to work with them. Not me. _You_."

_But Alice sent me the message._

"Good girl." Satisfied, he said, "Secrets are necessary when they hate us as thoroughly they do. They could easily turn on us at the last minute."

I frowned.

"If it's any consolation, they're keeping secrets as well. Nothing important, mind you, but neither of us trusts the other. This coalition is made out of necessity and temporary. It will dissolve as soon as the threat is eliminated."

It didn't seem all that smart to me to fight beside people you couldn't trust. Then again, I didn't want Edward in this fight at all—Alice said he shouldn't take part—but as his eyes followed Jasper, I wasn't so sure I could keep him out of it. Suddenly I had a newfound respect for Edward's silly over-protectiveness. There was a whole _world_ to protect him from, a world filled with vampires like Maria, with "governmental agents" much more frightening than my human world's cubical-contained IRS agents.

As I watched Jasper's training session end, and the wolves melt into the forest once more, I held close to Edward. I'd already lost my father. I couldn't lose Edward, too—not to his past or to anything or anyone else. I wouldn't let it happen.

Had Alice left me with the tools, the information, needed to protect him? If she hadn't, why did she even bother telling me _anything_? _Damn her._ But then I felt guilty. What if she was in trouble? _Should I tell the others? But she said not to…_

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?" I shook my head. "Nothing."

Edward smirked. "I suspect that's far from the truth. Either way, your face alone tells me you're puzzling over something."

"Maybe I'll start wearing a ski mask," I joked.

Edward smiled briefly, but his lips soon turned downward. "Jasper felt you were upset earlier and…guilty. Is something wrong?"

_Yes. Everything._ But fear kept me from telling him the truth. After all my effort to _not_ be like Renée, I was just as superstitious—afraid to "jinx it." Then again, Alice was more reliable than the palm reader my mother had gone to on occasion when I was a kid.

"I just hate that I can't help," I said finally. That was true, at least.

Relieved by my answer, Edward leaned over and kissed my forehead. "Jasper thought as much, but I wanted to make sure. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know," I whispered. But I still held my secret and wondered if we'd ever have a relationship without them.

Everyone was quiet on the return to the Cullen mansion. It was afternoon now, and as each hour passed with no word from Alice, Jasper grew more distant. Though he didn't fidget like a human would, his anxiety was obvious and sometimes even spilled over onto the rest of us by way of his gift. It was a horrible feeling—a feeling of missing something, of wanting to find it, of worrying over it, of the pain felt each moment you denied yourself from immediately acting.

There was a wildness to it, too. A hair-raising danger hovering at the corners of his eyes and mouth, waiting to be released. He reminded me of Edward on the night I'd visited La Push—a threatened animal, waiting to lash out.

The Cullens' Alaskan cousins called and agreed to help in Seattle; it was only because of Carlisle's gentle pleas that they were helping at all, rather than contacting the Volturi. They had time to change their minds, he told them, but he hoped they wouldn't. I noticed he didn't tell them about Edward and me.

Portland would be cleared first, with the wolves' help, then Seattle. They were optimistic and inhuman; they thought they could do it in a couple of days—if there were no surprises. With vampires' superior mental capacity at work and the wolves' instinctive nature at play, it was all happening quickly, almost too quickly for me to follow. I was just an out-of-place human, not to mention a liability.

_Why did Alice have to tell me?_

At the foot of the Cullen mansion's porch steps, Edward stopped Jasper as I slid down from his back after our journey. I held onto him until I regained my sense of balance. There was no elegant way to be a klutz among the supernaturally graceful, so I'd stopped trying.

"I need to learn what you taught them today," Edward told Jasper.

My heart leapt into my throat at the thought of the two of them fighting again—even if it was for learning. Only twenty-four hours earlier, they'd been fighting for entirely different reasons and with darker ends in mind.

Jasper regarded Edward with a sigh. "Why didn't you join in earlier?"

"The wolves make me uncomfortable."

"They make us all uncomfortable, but as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy…" He shrugged and forced a small smile. It seemed hard for him to be polite at the moment.

"It's also the mind reading," Edward explained hesitantly, as if he was ashamed. "It can be helpful—and so I depend on it—but it can also distracting. I don't always see how another plans to react in a fight, because oftentimes things aren't consciously thought out. I'm confronted with a mirror image of myself in their thoughts."

"You have to learn to work with the distraction your gift presents. It takes some practice, but I suppose I can teach you a little now." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes set on me, suddenly shrewd. "But I don't think you'll be helping in Seattle or Portland."

"No."

"What?" I asked, feeling as if I was missing half of what was going on. _But at least he's not fighting!_

"Edward probably shouldn't part from you," Jasper said. "Whatever game Maria's playing, she obviously would like us to play as well—at least by her rules. If she has Alice, and I believe she does, you could be a target, too. Needless to say, you're not as sturdy of one."

Despite wanting to seem brave in the face of danger, I felt weak in the knees. My fingers dug into the fabric of Edward's shirt—Jasper's, really. "You think she'd use me to get to Edward?" I was more of a liability than I'd realized.

Edward pulled my fingers from his shirt and squeezed them gently. "It'll be all right," he promised. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and having Jasper teach me how to protect you is another way to ensure that. We'll take a flight in the morning, get out of Washington."

Terror washed over me. Jasper gave me a strange look, and I felt the fear subside, but only a little.

"We can't leave," I blurted out, feeling strange as I said the words, but somewhere, deep down, knowing they were true. _Alice would have told us to leave if it was safe to—if we needed to_.

Right?

Maybe I had too much faith in her. _But she saved Edward_. And had tried to save my father. What was the more important fact about that—that she'd tried or that she'd failed?

Edward turned me so I faced him. Holding my face in his hands, he said, "We have to leave. I told you I'd bring you back to see to Charlie's, and we'll try to make it to Angela and Ben's wedding, but this is how it has to be for now."

I pulled away. "No. We have to stay." I grasped for an explanation. "What if Alice comes back? What if Maria chases us? You don't even know what she's up to—or where the Volturi are."

They were silent for a moment before Jasper said, "She has a point. Moving may present as much of a risk as staying put."

Edward glared at Jasper, as if he were once again an enemy. "She's being irrational."

"I'm right here, thanks," I reminded him. "You can talk _to_ me."

"So, what? You want us to stay here, in Forks?" Edward asked me. "You were right. We're _sandwiched_ here. It's _not safe_."

"Do you think Maria thought you were telling the truth yesterday?" Jasper challenged.

Edward frowned at the question. "She knew I was hiding things, but, as I told you, I struggle to read her."

"Maria's thorough. I wouldn't doubt that she'd have some contingency plan for your running—and she likes a chase, believe me; they amuse her—in which case the best defense would be to lead her to think you've left the state, but to stay here, in Forks. You could stay at Charlie's. I'd assume she doesn't know of it."

"I don't think she does," Edward said hesitantly. "But what about when she returns to the area in two days?"

Jasper was quiet for a moment as he thought. Edward's frown deepened, and he began to shake his head.

"That's risky," Edward commented.

I looked between the two of them, frustrated by their silent communication. "What is?"

"A possible solution to dealing with Maria. If we can clear out the newborns in time," Jasper said, "we could return and have Maria surrounded when she comes here."

"If she comes at all," Edward said.

Jasper let out an annoyed hiss. "We know too little. If only Alice—"

Abruptly, he stopped speaking and looked down at the ground. I felt an acute pain in my chest, that grieving ache from losing Charlie, from being emotionally separated from Edward.

Edward kissed my head and stepped forward. "Teach me how to fight."

* * *

Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie and I stood at the windows and watched as Emmett and Jasper taught Edward all they knew. It was a crash course in vampire combat—and nothing short of acrobatics—but with flawless memory, Edward was learning quickly. If I didn't think about the purpose behind their fighting, and if I ignored the craziest of their blurred movements, it would easily look like they were just young men, roughhousing.

"I want you to stay." From where he stood beside me, Carlisle spoke to Esme softly, in a tone that made me blush, though neither of them seemed to notice. He held her close, his nose buried in her brown hair while his eyes focused on the scene outside.

Esme patted his hand, where it rested on her stomach. "Don't be silly. I'm going wherever you go."

Carlisle sighed, but said nothing. I guessed being with someone for so long meant you knew when something wasn't worth arguing.

Esme's refusal to stay behind with Edward and me made me uncomfortable, though. Not because I thought she _should_ stay with us, but because I knew in most circumstances, she would have. That she refused to leave Carlisle's side during these newborn battles showed how serious it was.

"Why are you here, Bella?" Rosalie asked all of a sudden. She stood on my other side, her beautiful face pulled tight by furrowed brows and a full-lipped frown.

"Rosalie," Esme admonished, "don't start, dear. It's not your place."

"I don't know Edward, but I know he shouldn't have gotten involved with you," Rosalie continued, undeterred. "You see how easily things become dangerous. Why risk your _life_? You should be in school or traveling or—or, really, you could do anything. So many doors of opportunity for humans. Why would you choose this?"

She seemed genuinely curious, but her question was silly to me. "You wouldn't for Emmett?"

Rosalie's frown morphed as she pressed her lips into a thin line. She wasn't so intimidating when she looked like that.

"It's my life," I said, thinking of the day Charlie told me he'd decided to quit chemo. Finally, I was beginning to understand that decision, at least a little; it all came down to choice, control over your own future. "I get to choose how to live my life—maybe even how it ends." The truth of that sent a chill through me, how I could _die_ and cheat death because of the man outside. "I'm sure everything will be okay."

_If Alice doesn't fail._ And if I hadn't misinterpreted her messages.

"I hope you're right, Bella."

* * *

Night came, and it rained. It was time for the Cullens to make their way through the darkness, to meet up once again with the few wolves who'd promised to help. Together, they would move stealthily toward Portland. Edward and I would stay behind. It felt wrong to do that, to let others put their lives on the line without lifting a finger to help, but there didn't seem to be any other option.

Esme and Carlisle hugged us and promised they'd call often to keep us in the loop. With easy familiarity, Emmett teased us with a grin. "You guys are just lazy," he said. "No guts, no glory." Rosalie coolly waved from a small distance away, a black hood pulled up over her head; a few stray, golden locks lay damply beyond it.

Jasper was the last to say his goodbyes. He surprised me by clapping a hand to Edward's shoulder. "You'll be fine," he said. "You learn quickly. The mind reading probably helps more than you think. Channel the excess. Call if there's trouble." The Cullens and Edward were now all carrying satellite phones, in case any of us ended up in areas with poor reception.

Edward clapped a hand to Jasper's shoulder as well. "I hope you find Alice."

"I _have_ to," Jasper said simply as he slipped away from their almost-brotherly camaraderie and stepped into the night. He glanced at me, then at Edward. "You understand that pretty well, I reckon." Edward nodded.

We watched them melt into the darkness. Dressed as they were in dark clothing, my eyes couldn't follow them very far, but it was as if I felt when they left the Cullen property. _Did I just see them for the last time?_ I wondered, shaking as a cold, humid breeze passed over the front porch. It seemed unfair that the world of immortals wasn't much more secure than my own so far.

Lucky once again curled up on my lap, we left in Edward's car to return to Charlie's. Edward was frowning when we parked in front of the small house several minutes later. "Are you sure you want to stay?" he asked. The engine was still running, and the windshield wipers swished back and forth against the wet onslaught.

_No_, I thought with a shiver. Yet I was sure, too. Alice would have told us to leave if we needed to—wouldn't she?

"I'm sure we should stay," I answered quietly. I held on to Lucky's warm body, my heart beating unsteadily. He licked my knee, leaving the jean fabric wet.

Leather creaked as Edward's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, which already had other dents in it. "I can't lose you."

Reaching out, I pulled his hands free from the steering wheel. "You won't," I promised. If I somehow got caught in the middle of everything, he could just change me.

"At the first sign of trouble, we leave," he said. "The state. The country. _We go far away_."

"Okay," I agreed, nodding.

But for now we were here to stay. Our job was going to be easy; we just had to wait. At least…I hoped that was all we had to do—that there'd be no surprises for us or the others, that Alice had told me everything she needed to—instructed me by not giving me blatant instructions to the contrary. _Please have faith in me._ I hoped having faith wouldn't backfire.


	29. Blood Spilled Close to Home

**_Author's Notes (October 19, 2011):_**_ Hugs and sloppy kisses to the usual team, __**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, __**GreatChemistry**__ and __**smexy4smarties**__._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm29-pic_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm29-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 29: BLOOD SPILLED CLOSE TO HOME**

* * *

_Daylight is creeping. I feel it burn my face._  
_I don't sleep here no more, so my shadow walks in place of me._  
_Like candy, your eyes sweetly roll out of control._  
_Like the singer, alive, but just barely holding on._

_"There's Been An Accident" by The Twilight Singers_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
It wasn't easy for Bella to commit to stay in her father's home for the next couple of days, but with her stubborn refusal to leave Washington, we had little choice in the matter. Returning to _my_ home, where Maria had made herself welcome, certainly wasn't an option. As it was, I could only hope Maria didn't know of Charlie Swan's old home or that we were staying in it.

An hour had passed since we'd arrived. The Cullens and wolves would be halfway to Portland, searching in darkness for the telltale signs of our less civilized kind. And Jasper, I knew, would search for signs of Maria or Alice, hoping one would lead to the other. Though the fact that he was my maker still unnerved me, I understood his connection to Alice; his need for her was identical to my need for Bella. It was difficult to hold a grudge against one so similar to myself.

Despite my differences with the Cullens—and even after the surprise of discovering my maker was a part of their coven—I felt the absence of Carlisle, Esme and Alice more than I would have expected. I…_missed_ them, even in spite of unresolved matters, and feared for their safety.

I was also aware of the vulnerable position their absence subjected Bella and me to, knowledge of which left me anxious. I found myself frequently sniffing the air of the room, stretching my mind reading ability to its limits in an effort to listen for suspicious thoughts, tuning my ears for snapping twigs in the distance or for car engines I didn't recognize as being from the area.

It was an impossible task, preparing oneself for the unexpected. Maria wasn't stable—she never had been—and she seemed less so each time I encountered her. At any moment, our circumstances could change according to her whims. Jasper had been right. Stay or go, Bella might be in danger.

_Change her now_, a part of me said, but I wouldn't let circumstance force her into this life. Not as Maria had forced Jasper, or as he had unwittingly forced me.

I wasn't the only one fretting. Beside me on an old couch that sank beneath our weight, Bella's heartbeat was erratic. The scent of adrenaline burned in my nostrils and down my throat, coaxing venom to the back of my mouth. In this case, I welcomed the sting and sickly sweet poison, for both meant she was alive and with me.

We were pretending to watch a movie, but nothing so banal can hold the attention of those dealing with disaster. On the television, a woman let out a melodramatic, high-pitched scream. It was too fake to cause alarm, but it did make me wonder at Bella's choice.

"Are you sure a zombie film is what you want to watch right now?" I asked skeptically.

Bella blinked up at me, as if she were coming out of a trance. "It's just some B-grade horror. They're using _ketchup_ and—were the brains mushroom soup?" She laughed half-heartedly. "I think I can handle it."

"If you say so."

We watched as the woman on screen reloaded her shotgun. She stood against an army of zombies, seemingly the last survivor after her best friend had been torn to shreds by a horde clambering for her brains. I didn't much care for the scene or how our lives could easily mimic art. If such a film could indeed be considered art. That was debatable.

The sound of a truck roaring down the road in front of Charlie's house made Bella jump in concern. Though it was too dark for her to see outside, she looked at the window, her heart hammering.

"We're safe," I said in my most reassuring voice. I ran my fingers through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. "Relax."

She didn't, though—or, rather, couldn't. Distraction, that was what she needed—what _we_ needed. I searched for a moment for something to say, something to clear the dour, nervous atmosphere. Finally, I smiled down at her. "The movie reminds me that I've decided I may need to reconsider my position on your acceptance of zombies and other assorted mythical creatures."

My words had the desired effect. Bella's mouth turned up in a tentative smile, and she sat back more comfortably. "Oh? I'm glad you've come to your senses."

"Well, it's more that arguing with you wouldn't be to my advantage. I'm personally fond of your absurd beliefs."

"You're not a monster, if that's what you're getting at," she said, rolling her eyes.

I'd done monstrous things, and I had little doubt I would again if it came down to Bella's safety. "I know I'm not a monster anymore," I answered, twirling a strand of her hair around my finger. "That's because of you."

"Don't discredit your own hard work," Bella said. Then she turned and kissed me softly, her lips upturned in a smile, her fingers threading through my hair. As I deepened the kiss, the fearful rhythm of her heart transformed into excited racing.

I loved her, distracted her, on the old plaid couch, all the while keeping a portion of my mind on the world outside, a world I hoped was not against us.

* * *

Carlisle called late in the night. Four newborns had been found. Locating them had been an all-too-simple matter of following a gruesome trail of cadavers and dried up drops of blood. There were more victims than the police knew about.

The Cullens had offered to help the newborns through their overwhelming struggles, but they were too far gone, too feral, after weeks or months with little more than the taste of human blood to guide them. Two refused help; the others were so far gone that their only response was to lash out and attack.

Distantly, I could sympathize with them—somewhat. It was only luck and my ability to read minds that had kept me in check during the first few years of my existence. In the beginning, there's such a feeling of power, a _high_. Even in moments when I'd despaired, I'd at times thought myself a god, too. It was frightening how intoxicating even the memory was. These newborns couldn't help themselves. And yet if they were unwilling or unable to learn some semblance of control, they had to be destroyed. Though it pained Carlisle and Esme in particular, all of the Cullens knew this, and all four newborns had been killed.

The world was perhaps a sadder place without the newborns' victims and the humans the newborns themselves had once been, but losing these warped mutations of their former selves… I could pity them, but not feel troubled for long. Bella's safety was my greatest concern and would remain so. I prayed a familiar prayer as she slept: _If you're listening, keep her safe._

It was fortunate for us all that no humans had discovered anything near to the truth yet. Even if humans weren't likely to suspect supposedly mythological creatures, even if they were no match for our kind, exposure could still be dangerous. Judging by the police reports we'd read, authorities were alarmed enough by the number of deaths by exsanguination.

We lived the following day in a state of barely contained anxiety, where every unanticipated sound was more alarming than it should have been. A short trip to the local grocer was nearly crippling for both of us, bringing with it a feeling of exposure. The pressure and mounting worry didn't subside as the day went on.

Carlisle and Esme continued to phone with more information, adding equally to our hopes and concerns. Five newborns were killed. Then six. Seven and eight. Nine.

"How many do you think are left?" I asked Carlisle during the latest call. "I'm worried you won't be back in time for Maria."

"We'll be there, Edward, I promise. And we believe three remain here in Portland. And the Denali coven has actually been kind enough to visit Seattle without us. They've only found evidence of a few newborns there. It would appear that they either ran away…or killed each other. I suppose it's also possible Maria moved them all here at some point, only we haven't located them yet."

"So good news, perhaps," I said, nodding as I stared out the kitchen window, my eyes set on the forest and all its tiny, natural shifting. It was _unnatural_ movement I was watching for, but was, as of yet, not seeing any evidence of.

On the other end, Carlisle cleared his throat, keeping up his human façade, as he always did. "There is one problem," he admitted.

"Struggling to keep the dogs on their leashes?" I asked dryly. I didn't see how they could be much help, anyhow. Wolves that size couldn't go running about a city; they'd only be able to help with those newborns who drifted to the wooded outskirts.

Carlisle sighed. "It's not the wolves. I'm afraid Jasper gave us the slip a few hours ago."

The news, though unwelcome, didn't come as a surprise. Having listened to Jasper's thoughts, I knew how hard it had been for him not to go searching for Alice from the start. "I see," I murmured. "He's after Maria?"

"He believes so, I think. He shouldn't go alone—he knows that as well as any of us—but it's Alice. _We'd_ go, if we could. He did answer one of our calls, at least. He's told us to stick to our original plan, and Esme and I agree that the newborns should take priority. If Maria does have any control over them—directly or through some chain of command—it'd be unwise to leave them here for her. They could be used against him in a fight."

"Are they even stable enough to be commanded?" I asked. All the news from the Cullens suggested the newborns were aimless, at best.

"They don't…seem it."

I was believing less and less of Maria's story regarding the Volturi. It was a positive thought, overall, but then… "What is she doing with them?"

"At this point, we don't know. There doesn't seem to be a method to the madness, despite what she may have suggested."

"Carlisle?" I heard Esme call. "The wolves found something."

"I should go," Carlisle said. "We'll be back by dawn."

I ended the call and turned to Bella, who sat at the table we'd brought back into the kitchen for our impromptu stay. One of her legs was jumping up and down with her nervousness. She looked at me questioningly, her bottom lip tucked beneath her two front teeth. Sighing, I sat down with her and told her the latest news.

"He—he _left_ them?" She was paler than usual.

I nodded. "It was killing him not to go after Alice." I squeezed her hand. "I would do the same thing if it were you." In fact, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to wait as Jasper had.

"But he can't just go off on his own! Not after Maria!" Bella stood abruptly, tearing her hand from mine as her eyes wildly searched the kitchen. Her heart took off at an alarming pace, the start of what I thought might be a panic attack. "I have to do something," she said, frantic.

I wrapped my hand around her elbow and pulled her back down to her seat. "Bella, calm down. I'm sure Jasper knows what he's doing." I wasn't sure of that, actually, but it seemed like the right thing to say to her. "His mind seems to be very rational. He won't get hurt."

"What about the rest of us?" she spluttered. "What about _you_?"

I frowned, not following her thought processes. As usual. "It's upsetting that he went out on his own," I agreed slowly, "but I don't believe he'll do anything rash, if that's what's concerning you. He may even find Maria and Alice."

While I'd believed that idea would calm Bella, I was sadly mistaken. She shook her head jerkily. "But that changes things…" She bit her lip again and turned wide, brown eyes on me.

I did my best to read between the lines of her words and body language, but I was at a loss. I held her wrist and ran my fingers along her pulse point, which twitched rapidly. Fine beads of sweat rose to her skin's surface. "Bella? Tell me what's going on. What has you so frightened?"

She was demonstrating classic signs of a panic attack. She was strong for a human, but she _was_ only a human, and not meant to participate in the bloodthirsty world of vampires. Particularly when that world was going through one of its rare but violent changes.

_Why now?_ I thought for the millionth time. Everything could have gone so differently, if only Maria hadn't bothered to show up for another year. Then again, one's past haunts according to its own timeline.

When it became obvious Bella wasn't going to answer me, I sighed and stood. "Come on," I said softly. "Let's get you a hot bath. Everything will be all right. I promise."

_Please let me keep that promise._

Holding her trembling hands, I led her upstairs, where I ran hot water into the old tub. "Thank you," she whispered when she'd slipped into the waiting water. "I guess… Well, I'm just kinda afraid. Jasper going after Maria and Alice… I didn't see that coming."

"Perhaps Alice knows he's coming for her," I said with what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

Bella swallowed loudly. "Yeah, I hope she knows."

* * *

I left Bella to relax. There was nothing I could say if she was unwilling to speak of her fears; as it was, I was unsure of whether I could even console a human in a crisis such as this one. I was having a difficult enough time keeping myself together.

Our moments apart allowed me to walk the perimeter of the house to ensure no other vampire had set foot near us. It was unlikely they'd get past my mind reading, I supposed, but confirming it comforted me somewhat. It _was_ very noisy in my head, after all. Someone could slip through the chaotic cracks.

I didn't like to consider that possibility.

Having found everything clear, I rounded back to the front of the house, noting as I did the tiny fissures visible in the house siding. We'd have to fix that when there was time. I nearly laughed at the absurdity. A vampire with no extra time?

In our stress, we'd neglected to gather up the daily newspaper during our one outing earlier in the day. Though encased in a thin orange bag, the _Peninsula Daily News _was damp from sitting in a puddle for several hours. I stood in the driveway, one ear tuned to the sound of bathwater lapping against Bella's skin, and carefully pulled the paper from the bag and unrolled it. The leading headline rooted me to the ground in shock.

**PASTOR'S DAUGHTER, UW STUDENT FOUND DEAD IN HOME**

I stared at the smeared, black ink, willing it to be false, for the letters to slip off the face of the paper into nothingness. These names weren't meant to be in obituaries yet. And yet here they were—worse, on the front page, because the people who owned them had been murdered last night. This was no accident. This was an attack. A targeted one, I feared.

Angela Weber and her fiancé, Ben Cheney, were found dead in the house Bella had been living in little over a month ago. Police were already concerned that their deaths might be related to the Portland and Seattle gang. They had no idea, really.

Nothing was written about Angela and Ben's unborn child. Leah Clearwater, who found the bodies, was reportedly distraught.

I'd stopped breathing. Bella would be devastated. Again. How could I even give her this news?

Death was not through with her, a notion that further chilled my temperate flesh. Bella was in danger as a direct result of my past behavior. It was my deepest fear, realized—again and again.

Setting my jaw, I rolled the paper up tightly, stuffing it in my back pocket, and returned to the house, casting one final glance onto the surrounding forest. Nothing was amiss here, but for how long? Were we being tracked somehow, in a way I was unaware of? Perhaps it was only a fluke that Angela and Ben had been murdered. Perhaps newborns weren't behind it at all.

But I didn't believe that.

I felt sick, a physically impossible but nonetheless real-seeming sensation. Bella could be in greater danger than I'd realized, and she had to know about her friend. I'd never been around Angela that much, only a time or two, but she'd had a tenderhearted mind and had cared for Bella. For those things alone, I mourned her. _I'll compose for her, too_, I promised myself and Bella.

My feet weighed by melancholy, I entered the house and ascended the stairs at a slow pace. _I could lie_, I thought. I could hide this from her. Protect her. I could take her away from this and never let her look back. I could do these things, but in the end, I decided I wouldn't. We were past lies.

"Bella," I called, knocking on the bathroom door. Her heart skipped a beat, but calmed quickly. It pained me to know I had stressful news. "May I come in?"

"Sure, I'm just getting out." I heard her pull the drain plug and stand. There was the sound of water droplets _plinking_ as they fell from her body back into the water she stood in.

"Let me," I said, entering the small bathroom and grabbing the towel. I wrapped her in it, taking my time as I ran the cloth over her skin. "I love you, Bella."

"I love you, too," she whispered back. She was looking up at me, her brows pulled together. _Thump-thump-thump_, _thump-thump-thump_. "What's wrong?"

"You're too observant," I replied sadly, wanting to delay the news I was to deliver.

"No, I just know you." She shivered, and I let go of her, worried I was doing more harm than good with my touch. "Did…did Carlisle call?"

"No, it's not that. Why don't you get dressed first?"

When she was dried and dressed, and her long hair was pulled back into a wet ponytail, I took her to the room we were staying in—her old bedroom, for she couldn't stomach our staying in Charlie's. "Sit," I bade her, pushing her to the bed. I sat opposite her in an old rocking chair. I leaned forward and put a hand on her knee, not knowing how to begin.

"You're scaring me," she breathed.

I knew I was. I could smell it and see it in the tense lines of her body, and yet… How to deliver such news? Truth was all I could offer. "It's Angela and Ben," I said in as even and gentle of a tone as possible.

"What do you mean…Angela and Ben?"

"There's an article today… In the newspaper. Bella, I'm sorry." I was. More than she could know.

She was unnervingly still for a human in that moment. _Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump._ "Where's the paper?"

I hesitated, but then nodded, resigned, as I removed the newspaper from my back pocket and handed it to her. She took it and scrambled to unroll it again, her eyes swiftly scanning left to right. When she was finished, she looked up at me, her expression blank with shock. Her body saturated the room with the scent of adrenaline.

"I'm so sorry," I said again, shaking my head.

"It's all my fault."

"No, no. This has nothing to do with you." A small voice whispered in the back of my mind. _You should have left her well enough alone. You've brought this upon her._

"It has everything to do with me!" she yelled, throwing the paper to the floor angrily. Tears streamed down her face. "That was _my_ home, too! Angela and Ben didn't fucking do _anything_ to deserve this." It was the unfairness that burned so deeply.

It was Charlie all over again.

"No, they didn't," I agreed. "But that doesn't make it your fault."

She stood, running her hands over her shirt, to straighten it, though it wasn't wrinkled. "I have to call their families. Say something. I have to—"

I stood and took her hand. "I'll help you. You're not alone." But she was grieving, and she was in grave danger.

As she composed herself and called the Webers and Cheneys, I sent a text message to Carlisle.

_Come back ASAP. The newborns are here._

How close? Were they gone from Port Angeles? Were they in Forks? I listened with all my senses, but heard nothing amiss, other than the hard, burdened pumping of Bella's heart.

* * *

I knew grief and guilt. I'd had decades to intimately exist with both. Bella was young, however, younger than I sometimes remembered, and relatively inexperienced with these pains, even after Charlie. She felt loss acutely, as humans always do. We lay close in the double bed of her old room, a lone lamp casting light over her tear-stained face. She'd cried a long time, and the room smelled of salt.

"Do you think they suffered much?"

"No, it was quick," I said without hesitation, even though it might have been a lie. Whoever had killed Angela and Ben might have toyed with them first. Vampires thrilled at that, as it made the blood taste sweeter. But Bella didn't need to know this. If I could shelter her from one horror this day, I would.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, brushing hair from her face.

She stared at me for a long time, as if she hadn't heard me. "Are they near?"

"Who?"

"The newborns."

"I haven't heard anything out of the norm. Maria shouldn't know about your father's place." That was my hope, anyhow. "Still, I've told the Cullens to come back as soon as they can."

That had been three hours ago, and the sun had set. No returned call or message. I was worried about them and even more so about us. What would I do if we were attacked? Fight, if I could. Run with Bella, if I couldn't. _If you're listening, please keep her safe._

"I think you should change me."

Bella's words pulled me out of my thoughts in one quick rush. I leaned up on one hand and looked down at her. "No way."

She frowned. "Why not? You want me to. _I_ want to."

"Bella—"

"Hear me out," she interrupted. Awkwardly, she scrambled into a sitting position, crossing her legs before her. "They're here. The newborns. If they got Ang and Ben"—she choked on their names—"if they got them, they're here. And you know Maria's coming—probably tomorrow. I'm just a stupid liability."

"You are not stupid. And you'd be a liability as a newborn, too," I told her. "You wouldn't even change in time before her arrival. It takes three days." Long days of torment that I was reluctant to subject her to, regardless of how much I desired to have her join me in this life.

"What if the others don't get back in time, though? Wouldn't it be better for me to be…I don't know…in transition?"

Not having an answer, I sighed. Two schools of thought warred inside me. On the one hand, I didn't want Bella to be coerced into becoming a vampire, due to our circumstances; she might not be able to see it now, but there were parts of her human life that I doubted she was ready to relinquish. On the other hand, I knew that most vampires would have changed their mate as soon as the opportunity had presented itself. That was a thought I'd entertained many a night since falling in love.

Bella moved all of a sudden to straddle my lap. I raised my brows at her and rested my hands on her hips. "Change me," she said, her voice shaky but determined. Then she tilted her head back and to one side. So trusting.

I chuckled darkly. "You make it seem easy." _Tasting her blood…_ For the first time in a long time, the monster within me rattled at his chains. "So you're ready now then?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

Bella gulped. "Yes."

I pressed my lips to her neck; I could feel the river of blood rushing beneath her thin layers of protection. Tongue touched to skin, I tasted sweat and the promise of her blood. _Have her_. _She's offering herself to you. A gift. Take it._

I wouldn't drink much. A taste. Only a taste. Then I'd give her my venom. Only a taste…Then I'd make her mine. Forever.

For long, agonizing seconds I stayed still, too afraid to move, lest I do something one or both of us would regret. Finally, letting out a ragged breath, I kissed her skin and pulled away. The most precious of gifts should be treasured, not carelessly taken.

"Why?" she whispered, looking back at me. Tears hovered at the corners of her eyes.

"Because," I started, kissing her cheek, "you're making this decision under considerable stress."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

_My, how our positions have changed._ Less than a month ago, I'd believed she would never even want to be with me for the long haul. She hadn't even known what I was.

I smiled, my heart aching. "You don't know how much it means to hear you say that. And yet, I want your exit from your world to be…as peaceful as possible. This isn't the time, Bella. I want you to choose this out of love, not out of fear. After this is over—"

"There's always _something_, you know." I gave her a questioning look, and she elaborated, "I mean, there's always some reason to wait—to _not_ act. I didn't see Charlie on Christmases, because I knew I'd see him in the summer. And I didn't move to Forks when I was sixteen, because I could just as easily do it when I was seventeen. And…I-I didn't keep up in touch with Ang like I should. There's always some reason _not_ to do something."

"You have to admit that an army of newborn vampires is quite the reason, though, yes?"

She frowned.

"Soon," I promised. "For now, let's deal with one thing at a time."

But as I held Bella, listening for intruders and waiting for the Cullens to call, I imagined her as a vampire and fought the desire to take what she was offering. One day, there'd be no fear of being with her. _Soon_, I reminded myself. We only had to make it through this.


	30. Now We Run

**_Author's Notes (December 12, 2011):_**_ Sorry for the wait on this one, guys! Life has been busy on most all sides. I've been trying to write ahead a bit so there will be no major delays between these final updates, though, so fingers crossed! You can thank the usual culprits, __**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, __**GreatChemistry**__ and __**smexy4smarties**__, for keeping me in line and holding my hands a lot lately._

**_Chapter pic:_**_ No time for it! :(_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm30-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 30: NOW WE RUN**

* * *

_You can run for a long time,_  
_Run on for a long time._  
_Sooner or later, God'll cut you down._

_"God's Gonna Cut You Down" by Johnny Cash_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
Cell phone clutched in my left hand, I sat in the rocking chair in Bella's room, watching the bed sheets move up and down with her steady breathing. Lucky lay at my feet; he'd wandered upstairs, as if sensing we all needed to be together. The mood in the house had been bleak ever since discovering the news of Angela and Ben.

Lucky and Bella's heartbeats, their breathing, the occasional growl of their stomachs, these were the only sounds in the room. In the distance, I listened to dreaming thoughts: of people running through dark mazes, of teens finding themselves nude in a classroom, of fear and love and lust. All was silent, otherwise, to both my ears and my mind. All was silent—right down to the phone in my hand.

The Cullens hadn't checked in, nor had they replied to my plea for their speedy return. Had Maria caught wind of their work and attacked them? Had they gone to save Jasper from his foolishness? Were the Volturi here? Their punishment was rumored to be swift and permanent… I pushed those dark thoughts to the side.

Perhaps I was over-thinking everything. Perhaps danger _wasn't_ lurking.

But one doesn't live for a century without developing some level of foresight, or at least highly evolved intuition. Angela and Ben's deaths, the Cullens' sudden silence: I didn't believe these to be coincidences. The only problem was that I didn't know how to react to them—or when danger might arrive or what form it might take. Were there vampires waiting to ambush us if I tried to remove Bella from Washington now? Dare I even try at this point? Why would anyone care? I wasn't important—a loner, a musician.

The problem was Maria wanted me, for whatever reason, and in my experience what Maria wanted she often got—or was willing to go to great lengths to have, at least. It was her way of passing through eternity. I'd managed to avoid her for a time, but Jasper's relationship with her was proof that once she'd set her sight on someone, that was it. It was an eternal relationship, whether one wanted it or not.

So I sat, still as a rooted oak, waiting and listening and trying to make a decision. If my intuition was correct, Maria—or, worse, perhaps the Volturi—would try to flush us out at some point. Or surprise us. One or the other. I felt it coming. Fight or run? Now or later?

When Bella woke, we'd leave, I decided finally. I wouldn't take no for an answer. We'd tried it Bella's way, but Maria would come now—might already be on her way or nearby. It was time to leave. I resisted the urge to whisk Bella away immediately. I couldn't bring myself to disturb her sleep. She'd had so little of it lately, and her nightly murmurs bespoke of nightmares.

Sighing, I stared at my phone, willing it to vibrate with an incoming call. _Where _are_ they?_ They were supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to be alone anymore.

Of course, I wasn't alone, I thought, glancing at Bella and Lucky. Being alone would have been far easier. No, there were other lives to consider, lives far more important to me than my own existence.

* * *

I counted minutes and hours. I counted heartbeats and breaths. I listened to a doe walk in the woods, to an owl screech in the night. I sifted through more dreams. The clock on Bella's bedside table showed it was nearly six in the morning. Her temperature was rising, heating the room slightly; she'd wake soon. I wondered if she would dislike how I'd reorganized her backpack. Either way, we were leaving, even if I had to drag her to SeaTac and buckle her into a seat myself.

Unfortunately, none of this was to be.

It was a quarter past six when I first heard them, the subtle thought patterns I'd been carefully listening for and yet desperately hoping I wouldn't encounter. I stood, fear rippling through my body. Too late. It was too late.

There was a male, determined. _Should be there in five minutes. Now if I can just keep the kids in line…_ He was excited, too. This was the most interesting "game" he'd played in centuries.

A female was with him, her thoughts the disjointed and rapidly cycling tangle of a newborn's brain._ So thirsty. Why won't he let us stop? I need more blood. It tastes so good… I'm _so_ thirsty._

Two other ravenous thought patterns joined hers, and I knew then that there were too many to stand against. I had no chance of winning a fight, not against a potentially skilled vampire and three newborns who might be loosely following his command—and certainly not with Bella in harm's way.

I took a moment to cling to the thread of thought belonging to the vampire I assumed was at the lead. If nothing else, I would try to be a step ahead of him.

It was time to go, and it'd have to be on foot. I did my best to ignore my fear and dread as both escalated. I forced myself to become an automaton as I rushed to Bella's bedside and lifted her into my arms.

"What…"

"Shh," I hushed. "It's time to go now."

At my words, Bella's eyes shot open in alarm; her eyelids were still swollen from crying hours earlier. She adjusted quickly, bringing her arms up around my neck. She looked at me, a question in her eyes that I suspect she already knew the answer to. For once, I knew we were on the same page, that she knew this wasn't any typical wakeup. I nodded. _Yes, they're here_, I was saying with my eyes. _No, I won't let them have us._

Her heart beat roughly against her chest, through to my own, but she nodded again, her eyes trusting. I considered how her trust was both humbling and burdensome as I walked swiftly and quietly down the stairs.

Sensing anxiety, Lucky rose from his place on the floor and let out a high-pitched whine; he scrambled to follow us. I paused in the kitchen, my hand on the knob to the back door. What was I to do with him? Bella _had_ to take priority. I had to get her out of the house. My mind was in overdrive, juggling a thousand different scenarios, while also listening to the coming newborns.

Lucky would need to have access to the outside. If we couldn't return soon, he'd… Well, I had to be realistic. He would have to find a new owner. I couldn't have him follow us outside now, though, not when doing so might put him in the newborns' warpath.

My throat hurt and my eyes burned as I turned to him and said roughly, "Stay."

He cocked his head to one side and whined.

"Stay," I repeated and began to walk outside with Bella, who was watching Lucky, her face screwed up in sadness.

Lucky made to follow us again. There was only one way to make him understand. I leaned toward him, over him, and let out a low, reverberating growl. Both his and Bella's hearts picked up at the sound, but he moved away, just the same, his ears and tail drooping as he walked backwards. Eventually, he'd venture outside, but not for a while—not until long after Bella and I, and the newborns, had all moved away from the area.

I kissed Bella's hair and whispered into her ear, "Close your eyes and hold on tight."

With that, I ran, shooting straight into the depths of the woods that lay behind Charlie's house. Bella gasped at the sensation of frigid, January air beating against her skin, and I realized that in my rush, I hadn't thought to wrap her in a blanket; she only wore sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. At least she had on socks. _Christ, why didn't she say anything?_ I'd give her my shirt as soon as I could, but I couldn't stop at the moment, no matter how much the sound of her chattering teeth made me want to do so. I had to make sure I had a strong lead.

Behind me, the vampires reached the house. From a mile away, I listened to their conversation, cataloguing their physical attributes as I shifted from one thought pattern to another.

"Only a fucking dog's inside," one of the newborns grumbled as he recognized the sound of Lucky's heart beat.

"Where are they, James?" whimpered a short, dark-skinned newborn. "You said the girl was mine. I _want_ her. I smell her here. She smells so good." She pulled in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring.

"The girl's mine!" the other newborn snapped.

Through their thoughts, I saw their leader, the one the female had called James. He had dirty blond hair that was long and stringy, matted as it was with dirt and blood. "I never said she was either of yours, and you know it. And who the fuck tipped him off?" he asked, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the house. They didn't bother entering. A dog was of no use to them. Thankfully, Lucky wasn't coming out of the back door I'd left open.

James sniffed the air, his attention homing in on the path I'd taken. "That way," he told his entourage, pointing, "but don't get ahead of me." This was _his_ game, after all. He wanted to win.

_Win?_ I wondered, my shoes pounding the damp earth as I ran. Win what? How did this lead back to Maria? I was sure it did. He must be working for her.

I pushed my legs harder, weaving between trees. If there was any other skill I possessed as a vampire, it was speed, but carrying Bella slowed me down. I couldn't plow through thorny thickets with her fragile body. I was forced to look for clearer paths, often needing to take a left or right where I would have preferred to go straight, continuing toward the Southeast, into the belly of the Olympic National Park.

This direction wasn't ideal, but in the first moments I'd heard our attackers' thoughts, I knew it was the best I could choose. Heading north or south would have put us in the water or in more populous areas, come daytime. West sandwiched me between the attacking vampires and the wolves of La Push. While the latter were supposed allies, I had my doubts; they weren't fond of the Cullens, and they were even less fond of me. South and eastward, it was.

_No way I'm letting him get away. Do you hear me, mind reader?_

He knew of my gift.

Too slow. I was running too slowly this way. They were gaining on us.

"Bella?" I risked calling above the wind my speed created. "If I put you on my back, can you hold on?" At the sound of my voice, two of the newborns spread out, creating wings in the hopes of trapping me eventually. I could barely control my panic but managed for Bella's sake.

"For a little while," Bella whispered, her voice raspy from sleep and cold. I didn't like how her skin felt so near in temperature to mine.

I came to an abrupt halt and gently set her on her socked feet. Tearing my sweater off, I pulled it over her head before she knew what was going on. "It's not much," I said, "but at least it's extra fabric. As soon as we can stop, I'll get you something warmer."

She nodded while flexing her fingers. Blood rushed to her extremities, making her fingernails pink. Shuddering, she pulled my longer sleeves over her fingers as makeshift mittens.

_Ignore it_, I commanded myself. There was no time to worry. _I should have changed her._

I bent and let her climb onto my back, making sure to lock her arms and legs into place. I knew from experience she wouldn't last long this way, but I could make better headway for a little while without having to carry her in front of me.

"Let me know when you're too tired to hold on. Give me plenty of notice."

I felt her nod against my shoulder as I leapt forward, this time allowing myself to go _through_ the thick branches and wintry, forest undergrowth, rather than around. As I ran, I used one hand to send text messages to each of the Cullens again. I didn't expect them to reply. Something had happened to them, I was sure of it. _What_, exactly, I had no way of knowing.

At the moment, I didn't have much room to care. I was made numb by my determination to survive, to ensure Bella's survival. I would run for as long as it took. I would run until the half mile that separated us from this James and his small group of newborns grew to a hundred miles. I wouldn't tire. I would keep running.

But could Bella hold on?

For half an hour, I ran, and Bella, trembling, managed to keep hold, but if I thought I could lose our assailants, I'd been mistaken. While James' mind slipped in and out of the range of my ability, the newborns were always near, ignoring his command to let him take the lead. They were made strong by the blood their recent transformations had drawn from their own, formerly human bodies, so their speed was much closer to mine.

_I should have fed last night_. But how could I have left Bella alone to do so? I longed to be stronger, faster, to go back and make different decisions.

The sky lightened into early morning, but there was no warmth provided from the change. Fog lay thickly, and there was a light dusting of icy snow on the ground that my feet crunched through. I worried about Bella. She'd shivered, her breath on my skin not nearly as warm as it should have been.

One of the newborns changed directions a quarter mile away, his thoughts set on the chase and the scent of Bella's blood that wafted behind me like an enticing perfume. The longer the chase continued, the more we became cornered by them and the transforming landscape. The directions the newborns were coming at me from meant I would have to go straight up a mountain ominously known as Mount Deception.

Perhaps I could scale it and go down the other side before they could catch up with us. But then what? I couldn't run with Bella forever, no matter what I'd believed when I'd first set out. She was human. She had needs that couldn't be ignored. Even in her state of extreme cold, her stomach growled in hunger. She didn't complain—it wasn't her way—but I knew she needed food and rest.

As if to bring this point home, Bella groaned and began to slip from my back. I stopped running and knelt for her to climb down. I caught her as she nearly collapsed to the ground, her legs too stiff to hold her upright. "Bella!"

"I'm fine," she whispered, clasping onto my arms for support. "It's okay." She didn't seem _fine_ or _okay_ to me. Her lips were a horrible shade of blue. "Are they still coming?"

I nodded. "They're near." Nearer by the second.

Bella said nothing, only lifted her arms for me to take her. I scooped her up, instinctively tucking her body as close as I could, though I knew I could provide no warmth.

"I'm so sorry," she was mumbling into the crook of my neck as I began running again, the newborns and James closer than they'd ever been. Warm tears rolled down to my skin, only to be swept away by the wind. "I should have let you take us away. It's my fault. I've gotten us _killed_. Oh, God…"

"We're not dead yet," I said close to her ear. I sounded less convincing than I would have liked.

"You could leave me, you know," she continued. "Put me somewhere safe, and you can come back when you've lost them. You can't get hurt because of me. You just _can't_."

She wanted me to leave her in the woods? To save myself? Did she really think they couldn't smell us everywhere we went? I didn't bother replying, only squeezed her gently; she wasn't thinking clearly. The normal, less scared Bella would at least find our situation tragically romantic.

The longer I ran, the more I learned about James. Even if I could lose the others somehow, he would be trouble. There was something about him, the way he thought. He had an ability, I suspected, something that instinctively drew him in our direction, as if he were a compass needle and I true north. A tracker? That would appeal to Maria, certainly. Was he the one who'd located Bella's old address and killed Angela and Ben?

Bella's teeth chattered as we gained altitude along the mountainside. With a sinking feeling pulling at my insides, I realized there was no way I could take her to the very top without putting her at risk of dangerous frostbite. I veered to the right slightly, rerouting away from Mount Deception's peak and in a direction that would eventually put us face to face with a newborn.

We were trapped. Even as I ran from danger, I was barreling us toward disaster. The newborn whose path we'd cross had but one thought: blood. In his memory, he saw it running down his fingers, leaving a trail of burgundy, and tasted it thick and heavy on his tongue. He smelled it in the crisp winter air—Bella's blood, spiked with adrenaline.

Bella gasped when the newborn burst into her line of vision behind us. He was small—a short teen boy with shaggy black hair and pale skin that made the red of his eyes stand out. Bella's fingers pressed against my unforgiving flesh, seeking purchase and comfort where I could give none.

_Don't stop. Don't look back. Keep running._

Was I merely delaying the inevitable?

Leaping off of the trunk of a fallen tree, I changed direction again, angling us up the mountainside once more. Behind, I could hear snarls and frantic, thirsty panting. I saw myself in a newborn's mind, the way Bella's hair flew out over my shoulder as one long, inviting rope, the way he imagined himself catching up to me…just close enough to grab and yank her from my hold.

_Don't stop. Don't look back. Keep running._

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ Awful cliffhanger, I know. The next chapter is mostly ready and beta'd. I'll post it in 5-7 days. Just making some important, final edits._


	31. Gettysburg Meadow

**_Author's Notes (December 19, 2011):_**_ Thanks to __**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, and __**GreatChemistry**__ for their notes on this one. I took them to heart and applied so many little changes here and there that I've probably made new mistakes or typos. Feel my woe. _

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm31-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 31: GETTYSBURG MEADOW**

* * *

_"And the blood of her veins…throbbed to her love's refrain."_

_From "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
The newborns were gaining on Edward. They snapped their teeth, and their red eyes were wild with bloodlust. They were my nightmares made real, everything I imagined savage vampires to be. Had the newborns ever _really_ been human?

I watched over Edward's shoulder as a tall, brown-haired newborn scrabbled at another, shoving the smaller, black-haired vampire to the left. The female of the three snarled and moved to the side, putting greater distance between herself and the taller one. Though I couldn't see it—fast as we were moving away from them—I heard a loud crack as the thrown newborn collided with a tree trunk. It seemed like only the tree got injured from the contact, as he was back to chasing us shortly after his crash. Vampires were far too durable.

Sometimes I saw a blond-haired vampire chasing us, too. Unlike the newborns, who seemed to have no control over themselves, when he was close enough, I could see he was more aware of what was happening. He'd grin at me, his long rat face pinching up in amusement and what looked like triumph. It was like they were all soulless. All they could think about was the chase and blood. _My_ blood.

I held onto Edward for all I was worth, my fingers slowly going numb. "We—we need to go faster."

Edward grunted and cut his eyes at me, as if to say, _I'm doing all I can_, but I felt his body lean forward and push harder, just the same.

We'd been doing this for a long time. I didn't know how long, but it was bad. My body was stiff from being held and bumped up against unnaturally hard muscles. I couldn't even feel my legs. It felt like I was freezing, head to toe.

It got colder the higher up the mountain we went. After a while, I was just numb—unfeeling to the cold, resigned to the newborns behind us. Still, Edward ran.

"Are we gonna make it?" I whispered, not knowing where it was he was taking me (and suspecting he didn't know, either). I looked to his face for an answer. He didn't reply, but I watched his lips turned downward and his brow pull together.

That was answer enough, I thought.

* * *

Time no longer had meaning. All that was left was the cold, the sometimes-numb, sometimes-prickling-tingling pain in my fingers and toes. It was getting hard to hold on to Edward; I let one of my arms sometimes hang limply as he ran with me. The bruises I suffered from being held against his body only worsened the longer he carried me—no matter how gentle he tried to be.

Sometimes I felt tears on my face—hot, and then cold, as the air flattened them to my cheeks and the curve of my nose. I _hated_ when I cried, which only made me cry more. I knew it made things harder on Edward, but my body had a mind of its own, and I was so _tired_ and _guilty_ and _frozen_. And scared. The wind took my hiccupped breaths away until it felt like there was no air left in my lungs.

After a while, the sky above slipped in and out of focus: a world wrapped in a patchwork quilt of dark grey and blue-white winter cream. My dreams sometimes surfaced. Sometimes I thought I was standing, ankle-deep in snow, waiting for it to take away everything I loved before swallowing me whole.

"Hey, stay with me."

"Huh?" My head lolled to one side, which pressed my nose into tough, sweet-scented skin. I breathed in deep and felt the cold burn in my lungs.

"…get you someplace warm."

_Warm…_

"Bella… Stay with me…"

I meant to say, "I'm here," but nothing would come out.

* * *

Edward was shouting. What was he saying? I forced my eyes open.

"_Jasper_! Wait! What are you doing? Where are you going? Stop!" Seconds passed. "Fuck." Edward's head whipped around while he still ran.

I blinked hard to try to stay focused and peered over his shoulder. The newborns were still there…but closer. Much, much closer. "Jasper?" I whispered. I didn't see him.

"I hear his thoughts," Edward said loudly. "He's nearby. So is Maria. He's headed her way—so are we." What he said next was softer, more a cry. "There's nowhere for me to take you."

Nowhere?

I closed my eyes as I realized what he was saying. We were being _herded_ by vampires to the devil herself. I knew I should care, but that seemed to require resources and feelings I no longer had available. Shivering, I drifted away again.

* * *

"_No_!" A snap. A snarl. My body got jerked one way, then another.

Voices. Arguments. Coarse laughter.

Suddenly I was airborne—screaming, flying, soaring, and then falling as gravity took hold. The world came back to life as I landed with a crunch in snow that saved my bones from breaking, but did nothing for my bruises. I sucked in a breath to replace the one that had been knocked out of me and looked around.

I was in a large, snow-covered clearing, a bald spot of the forest. There were vampires present, some no farther than fifty feet from where I'd fallen. Nine of them, I counted. _Nine_. Edward was hissing and growling a few yards away, pulling against a vampire nearly the size of Emmett, whose burly arms bound him. There was no chance Edward would get free. I didn't think the vampire was exactly a newborn, or there'd be no struggle at all, but he had bulk that Edward, lanky as he was, did not.

Jasper was beside Edward and the big vampire. He stood freely in torn clothes, his hands fisted at his sides. _Why doesn't he help Edward?_

Now, even more than with the newborns trailing us, I sensed danger and felt my little hairs rise to attention. My body found warmth, as if it had always been there—stored away in my organs for when I would need it most. I hardly felt pain now. I was alert where I sat to the side on the ground.

_Run, run, run_, my insides screamed, but I stayed where I was. I'd been thrown to the side because I was inconvenient where I'd been in Edward's arms, but I was no threat, and there was no chance I'd be leaving. They knew it. I knew it. Holding in a groan, I crawled backward until I hit the trunk of a tree.

When I rested at its base, Edward stopped struggling. Our eyes met, and I saw his raw fear. I could only imagine what _I_ looked like. His sweater, providing what little warmth it could, swallowed me whole. My windblown hair was tangled around my face. I couldn't feel my toes. My heart seemed to want to jump out of my chest.

I could hear the rushing sound of a nearby river or waterfall. During summer, this place was probably pretty, probably a meadow filled with wildflowers, a nature lover's paradise. Now, it was only a cold, snowy expanse, fenced by scraggly trees and filled with pale, unnervingly beautiful figures with keen, red eyes. The newborns were especially eager as they licked their lips and stared at me. They looked like they might pounce at any minute. But they were held in check, for now.

They had…eaten, it looked like. Even from a distance, I could see the blood on their mouths, how it had dribbled down their chins. I was glad I hadn't been awake to see _who_ they'd eaten. Selfishly, I was just glad it hadn't been me.

The greatest shock came when I realized I recognized one of the vampires in the clearing. I let out a disbelieving huff of breath. It was _her_, the redhead who had caused my accident several years back. Edward followed my gaze, his brows shooting up high on his forehead as he put it all together. He glanced at me, and I nodded.

The red-haired woman didn't miss our silent interaction. She smiled at me, amused, showing all teeth, as did the blond, rat-faced vampire who stood beside her, the one who had been chasing us with the newborns; he had an arm thrown over the redhead's shoulders. Their smiles weren't friendly, only menacing. The scar on my face burned in the cold, reminding me of how close I'd come to death in the past…

And how likely it was that Edward and I were going to die now—or _worse_—at the hands of the petite woman in gauzy black dress who stood in the middle of the clearing. I stared at her profile, having no doubt of who she was: Maria Esperanza.

Though she was more olive-skinned than either Edward or the Cullens, and shorter than I'd imagined she'd be—she looked even shorter than I was—there was something about her, even if you only knew _of_ her, that didn't allow you to mistake her as being anyone else. She emanated a sort of unhinged power, like a broken electrical line lying on a deserted road.

"_Mi amante_," she purred to Edward, spreading her hands out. Bangle bracelets slid up her slender arms. "I'm so glad you've finally arrived—_and_ with your Isabella, no less." She looked over at me. "A little more bedraggled than I thought she'd be." Edward growled, and Maria let out a raucous laugh. "Only teasing." She turned to Jasper. "I'm glad to see you as well, _cariño_. It's been a long time—too long."

Jasper glared at Maria with unadulterated disgust. It was then that I felt his hate for her in the air, spilling out of his pores and into mine, so that I felt my own loathing for my situation and for her. Other vampires in the clearing shifted uneasily, fighting the feelings, not sure of how or where to direct them.

"What is it you want?" Jasper asked, his voice cold.

"Companionship," Maria answered simply. "You've run from me long enough—run from _who_ I know you to be—a wild creature, a lover of what we are. We held _all_ of Mexico, you and I." She glanced at Edward. "The three of us would be magnificent together; we would control mind, body and heart."

"_Four_ of us," corrected the blond-haired vampire who had chased us. "That was the deal for me finding them."

Maria inclined her head. "Of course, James."

James nodded and smiled. He must be pretty stupid, I thought, to believe she was keeping any deals with him. Even now, he and the redhead stood apart from the other vampires, creating their own little unit. They didn't quite fit in. The redhead seemed to know it, even if James didn't; her eyes cautiously shifted back and forth between the other vampires and sometimes to the woods.

Edward was looking between James and Maria. His brow furrowed in frustration. "Where are the Volturi in this?"

"Volturi?" a high-pitched voice echoed. It was the redhead. She began tugging on James' arm. "Are you trying to get us _killed_?" she hissed. "You never said _they_ were involved."

James glared at her and smacked her hand away. "What's he on about?" he said to Maria, his eyes trained on Edward.

Maria only laughed. "You believed that, _mi amante_? I wasn't sure you would, but I thought it'd be fun to see—a test. Your human's made you too trusting; the old you would have known better. I'm not actually working for them, if that's what you're wondering."

"So what _are_ you doing?" Edward asked.

"Something no one else has dared try before," she said with a smile. "I told you I was going to have this territory, but I'm going to do more than that. I'm going to take _all_ of Washington and Oregon—every last person. Those who will join me will be changed; those who won't or who try to stand against me…"

She was going to make everyone a _vampire_? No wonder she didn't want the Cullens around; that would go against everything they believed in. _Oh God, has she already gotten them?_

Jasper snorted. "You've built armies before, Maria. You know how this goes. If you aren't teamed up with the Italians—and I don't think you are—they'll just come and wipe you out like they always do."

"And let them come. I welcome it. This time I'll be ready. This time I'm going to take down the Volturi."

_That_ was the opposite of what she'd told Edward.

The other vampires hadn't expected her to say this either. I could see them hesitate; some nervously glanced at each other, obviously reconsidering their allegiance. The female newborn tilted her head in confusion. Whatever tall tales Maria had told them before—how many different stories _had_ she told?—they hadn't involved overthrowing the world's only vampire government.

"You want this too much," Jasper said. He seemed to be the only one unmoved by Maria's mission. "No matter what you do, it won't fill the emptiness Jacinto left behind, and you know it. It'll just get all of us killed."

_Jacinto?_

Viper-like, Maria turned to him, a finger pointed close to his face; she had to stand on her toes and reach up to achieve the effect. Jasper didn't flinch. "_Silencio_! What would you _really_ know of my feelings? Your gift lends no context—not in this case. You can't know how lonely it is. How could you _possibly_ understand? If I want to end it by trying to take them down with me, then so be it; it's my choice, not yours."

I frowned, hearing the ghostly echo of Charlie's words on the day he told me he'd quit chemo. But what had Maria so frazzled? What would make her so willing to give her life to take out the Volturi? Jacinto? Who was that? I looked to Edward to see if he understood, but he looked nearly as confused as I was, and I remembered he couldn't read Maria's thoughts well.

"This is mine to have," Maria spat. "That I offer to share the victory with either of you is an _honor_, considering how I've been treated."

"Join or die isn't much of a choice," Edward said. It was subtle, but I saw he was struggling against the larger vampire again.

"You should choose _me_!" Maria yelled, her collected façade slipping. "I _made_ you into something amazing—something you'd never been without me. Something those _culos_ in Italy would never let you be. Free. Guiltless. Wild.

"Do you honestly believe they'd let you have _her_ like this?" she challenged Edward, now pointing at me. He scowled, and then his eyes shifted to Jasper, his brows pulling together.

"I'll join you, Maria," Jasper said suddenly. "Let Alice go free, and I'll help you get your revenge." He laughed without humor. "You know I'll do it. I've done it before."

Though she seemed pleased by his words, she was also wary of Jasper's sudden commitment. "She's my bargaining chip, _cariño_. You'll leave if I let her go. I need your gift by my side to do this."

Jasper's lip curled. "I keep my word. If I say I'll join you and help, that's what I'll do."

Maria was silent as she considered this. "And you, Eduardo?" she asked a moment later. "Do you have similar terms?" Her red eyes briefly darted my way.

My heart was in my throat when he looked at me, his gaze gentle and sad. I knew exactly what it meant, and I shook my head. _No, no, no. Don't do this._

"I'll join you," Edward replied. "But you'll let me arrange Bella's transportation to a safe place—one I won't tell you or anyone else of."

"So she's to stay human?" Maria said in surprise. "I didn't expect that of you, what with your…playing house with the girl. Are you sure you don't want to keep her?" She eyed me like I was a curious art piece she couldn't decide whether she liked.

"The life you're offering isn't one she deserves."

Didn't I get a say in this? But as it was, I didn't think any words would come out of my mouth. I was still and powerless in the cold snow.

Maria nodded. "So be it. I agree to both your terms." She smiled slightly. "But, Ricardo, you best still hold on to Eduardo for now. He can be a little impulsive at times. One of my favorite things about him."

Edward wasn't looking my way anymore. He wasn't looking at anything. His expression was dull, and despite Maria's instructions to Ricardo, he wasn't struggling against the larger vampire.

Though I couldn't begin to understand all of her machinations, I had a feeling Maria was getting everything she'd wanted and planned for. I began to feel cold again. Adrenaline doesn't last forever, especially when you begin to realize it's time to give up.

"I want to see Alice before you let her go," Jasper said, and I felt his twinned emotions of gladness and despair before he pulled them back in.

"Of course, _cariño. _I had every intention of letting you see her." Maria gestured to one of the newborns. "Bring the _bruja_ to me and I'll give you a treat for your good behavior." The newborn nodded eagerly and disappeared into the woods.

Shaking, I pulled my legs up under my chin and watched Edward. He still wasn't looking my way. I wished I could read _his_ mind. He had another plan, didn't he? We'd run away again, right? This couldn't be the end. It just couldn't.

"_Jasper_…" Edward's tone was low and filled with warning.

Jasper looked at Edward, a question in his eyes.

"Alice isn't well."

"What's—"

"Ah, here she is!" Maria turned and smiled as the newborn came back to the clearing; he was carrying something.

Not something… _She_? I squinted to look more closely and gasped. He _had_ brought Alice. But not…all of her. I felt bile rise to my throat as I took in the newborn and the…_stump_ he held. Alice had been torn apart. She lay limbless in the vampire's arms; a frilly, black skirt draped awkwardly over legless hips. Her eyes were distant, unblinking…_dead_.

The newborn dropped her to the ground not fifteen feet away from me, as if she was nothing to him. Her body rolled forward, so that her face pressed into the snow.

Maria had the gall to smile as she looked down at Alice's still form. "Now you _maybe_ have some concept of my feelings," she said as she turned back to Jasper, who for a few moments was completely still as he stared down at Alice. "You _will_ help me, or it will be much worse for her. You've listened to her for long enough now."

There was numb shock—mine and Edward's, and more than ours, Jasper's.

Then everything fell apart.

Too many things happened at once. Jasper let out a chilling, inhuman yowl; anger, agony and fear tore through the clearing in waves that left me quivering into the rough bark of the tree I leaned against; the tornado of emotions were almost too much for me, like they might tear me in two, like my body wasn't big enough to contain them.

The newborns, overwhelmed, and with so little control over themselves, turned on each other. Their growls were loud and grotesque, and when they clawing nails met vampire flesh, it sounded like stone was being cracked apart. Screams filled the clearing.

"Stop this!" Maria shouted angrily, but then Jasper launched himself toward her. It surprised her, but she was quick. Her black dress swirled elegantly over the white snow as she dodged his attack with a sickening laugh.

James stepped forward to help her, but his redheaded mate tugged at him again, hissing words I couldn't hear over the commotion. He seemed angry, but he allowed her to lead him into the woods, away from the danger. Had they gotten more than they bargained for?

Seeing an opportunity and no doubt affected by Jasper's anger, too, Edward threw back his head toward Ricardo's face, the tendons of his neck standing out with the force he used. Even over the newborns' tussle, I heard the crack of the large vampire's nose. Ricardo stumbled back a step, raising one hand to his face, while the other groped blindly. Edward grabbed hold of Ricardo's hand and yanked him forward.

Clouds of snow flew up from the ground, obscuring their pale forms as they moved at top speed, and above this was the haunting cracking-crumbling of their flesh. Half of the time I didn't know who was fighting, much less who was winning.

Maria and Jasper danced around one another, evenly matched, evenly brutal. Ricardo fell to his knees after a blow to the head. Immediately, Edward turned toward me, his eyes frantic and black. We were going to run. We were going to get out of here. On legs that screamed in protest, I made to stand, using the tree for support.

But Edward didn't make it, and I collapsed back to the ground.

Ricardo grabbed hold of Edward's wrist and pulled hard. Edward spun on his heel. He scrambled to meet his attacker, and Ricardo pulled again, but harder this time. Hard _enough_.

Nothing—not even Charlie's rattling breaths before he died—could compare to Edward's scream as the large vampire tore his hand from his arm, yanking it apart at the wrist. He threw it to the side, some distance away. Long, slender fingers lay still, nearly as pale as the snow.

"Edward!"

Edward glanced at me from where he barely held Ricardo away from him with his uninjured arm. "Run!" he cried, his voice hoarse with his pain.

Mouth hanging open, I shook my head. "I can't," I whispered. He'd hear me over the clamor.

Running was a stupid request. He had to know that. I didn't know where we were. And how could I outrun vampires? How could I possibly leave him? I wouldn't.

I stayed, and the battle continued. Ricardo bit into Edward's shoulder, all too close to his neck. Two newborns died at the flames of another's matches. The sole survivor joined Maria against Jasper.

Maria seemed to be growing…weary, so the two of them didn't overpower him. Jasper slammed his body into Maria's, and I watched, confused, as she did little to protect herself from his attack. The newborn drew him away from her.

I wasn't sure how long they had been fighting—it could have only been minutes—but it felt like forever. Alice's warning to not let Edward fight was fresh in my mind as he jumped away from Ricardo's latest attack. He was at a disadvantage now; he could dodge most attacks using his gift, it seemed, but the loss of his hand kept him from going on the offense.

I looked for something—anything—I could do to help, but I was only human. We were going to get snowed in, drown, die in flames, all because I couldn't save any of us. _This_ was my nightmare, worse than ever before, because it wasn't a dream at all.

_Alice_.

It didn't seem the others, even Jasper, paid me any mind as I crawled toward her body. She was too heavy to drag away from the onslaught, so I stayed by her side, trembling in fear. I turned her over, grunting with the effort, and stared at her pale face. _Alice? Are you there? Tell me what to do. I've got to do something._ She'd been so wrong—whatever she'd thought she was doing—but maybe she could help fix things. It was my last ditch effort.

Her eyes, black as midnight, slowly gained focus. I gasped when her mouth yawned open. At first I thought she was trying to speak, but then I saw, to my horror, that she had no tongue; like her limbs, it'd been torn out.

It took me a moment to realize she wasn't looking at _me_. She was looking at my throat. In pain and starved, she was like the newborns now. My pulse, my blood, was everything. She couldn't see the person I was.

Vampires have a weakness. Just like hunger can be a human's Achilles' heel, so too is it a vampire's. I saw that as I looked at Alice, the way my friend disappeared in the face of her thirst. It always comes back to water and food—or blood if you're made that way.

Somehow, it always comes back to life and death. The only question is which side you're on.

"No, Bella!" Edward shouted. "Don't!"

I looked at him. He wasn't looking at me as he fought with Ricardo, but I thought he might have seen something in Alice's thoughts. Maybe she was still in there, somewhere, still having visions. It didn't matter. I couldn't run. Edward was already hurt. Jasper was evenly matched between the newborn and Maria, even as she seemed to slow down. I had a hidden weapon. What it would do, I didn't know. I just knew it'd do _something_.

As if fate had planned it, a long stick was poking up out of the snow, mere inches from where Alice lay. It was a root of some kind, but it easily snapped away from the frozen ground. Its end was long and narrow, creating a sharp pointed edge. It was perfect.

I stared at it for a few seconds. I'd never liked blood, especially my own, but I'd gotten over that for Charlie, and I'd get over it if it'd buy Edward some time. Maybe he could get away if the others wanted me.

_This isn't going to work_, I thought, as I pressed the stick's pointed tip to the crook of my arm, my cold fingers protesting each time I bent them. _You know he wants your blood just as much as the others do._ No. I wouldn't think like that, even if I could hear Edward's words in my memory. _Let's not test your theory._

But every theory needs to be tested, especially if it's the only one you've got. I tore into my skin, cutting all the way down to my wrist in one brutal stroke. Adrenaline kept the pain at bay as my blood welled up, dripped down and spilled over. Some of it fell to the snow; some of it fell into Alice's mouth.

Vicious hisses erupted in the clearing. Alice lifted her head up and moaned in combined pleasure and pain.

And the battle converged over me. Maria, the newborn and Ricardo turned to me as one, like horrifying, synchronized dancers. Hunger was in their eyes as they crouched in preparation for the kill. But they never made it. This time Edward made it to me first.

I fell back to the hard ground as he bowled me over, our bodies colliding painfully. My breath rushed out of my lungs in a gust. I expected one of the others to pull Edward away, but no one did.

There was a deep growling all of a sudden, shouting and more voices than before, but I couldn't see who had entered the clearing. In my peripheral vision, I could see Jasper forcing Maria to her knees as she yelled and tried to claw her way to me, but they didn't have my full attention.

All I could really see was Edward's black eyes. He had me pinned with his legs, and he hovered over me on one hand, staring ravenously. His other hand—stubbed off at the wrist—he pressed at my neck, maybe to feel my racing pulse. The open wound oozed a cool, sticky liquid on my skin. He wasn't breathing, but I could tell by the twitch of his lips that he was fighting with himself. Fighting his monster.

What would it do to him if he killed me? No swan song would soothe him.

"I love you, and you love me," I reminded him softly, my voice shaking. "Don't forget that."

He growled, and the vibrations traveled through his body to mine.

I felt dizzy; the sky behind Edward spun on occasion. Had I lost that much blood? Or maybe it was the adrenaline mixed with the blood loss. Venom dripped from Edward's teeth onto my chin.

Suddenly, the pressure of his body was torn away. I let out a cry, thinking Ricardo had finally grabbed hold of him, but when I managed to look up, it wasn't the scary, hulking vampire I saw. It was…Carlisle. "Go!" he shouted at Edward as he shoved him away. "You don't want to hurt her." Edward still looked feral as he stared down at me with black eyes, but he shot away at top speed; I heard him break into the woods a few seconds later.

"Carlisle?"I whispered in disbelief.

"We're here now." He knelt beside me. "Everything's going to be all right." He worked faster than I could keep up with, tearing off a piece of his black sweater to tie around my arm. "That should staunch the blood flow," he said, and smiled at me reassuringly. "I've gotten you out of worse scrapes than this. Your fingers concern me, though. We need to get you somewhere warm."

_No kidding. _I almost hated him for reminding me of how cold I was. My body seemed to remember, as well, and started shivering again.

Esme was in the clearing. After my wound had been covered, she took over for Carlisle as he went to help Jasper—with what, I didn't know, until I heard the unnerving sound of stones breaking. I knew it wasn't stone, though.

"Oh, my sweet girl, I'm so sorry," Esme said as she had me rest my head in her lap. "We were trying to get to you. Maria had more newborns than we knew. One of her followers must have let her know what we were doing. We were ambushed and had to deal with them the whole way back to Forks. I don't know what we would have done without the wolves."

"Why didn't you let us know?"

She sighed. "Satellite phones might have reception everywhere, but they don't stand a chance against an all-out battle. We were down to our last two when we last called, and diving into a river took care of those. We just did our best to get to you. When we found Lucky all alone in Charlie's house… Well, we didn't stop to call from the landline. We followed your scent all the way here. I was so afraid we were going to lose you both." She looked around, her sweet, rounded face troubled. "We almost did."

I was beginning to feel a little foolish—or at least like I had incredibly awful timing. _Did I slice into my arm for nothing?_ But I asked, "Is Edward okay?"

"He will be."

"Are you sure?"

"We'll make sure."

I believed her. "Did any of you get hurt?"

"Emmett," she said, but she smiled. "He got into the spirit of it all a little too much. He's fine, though. Has a few scars he'll be bragging about for the next century."

"Maria—"

"Is dead. Or will be very soon." Esme's tone turned cold. "She won't be bothering us anymore. Good riddance, I say."

As if to punctuate her words, I saw smoke from the corner of my eye as it floated up to low-hanging clouds. A pungent scent stung in my nostrils. "She wasn't working with the Volturi," I said, my voice quiet. "She said she was trying to kill them."

_But why_? I didn't understand her motives or why she'd lied to Edward and the others she'd been involved with. What was she _doing_? Now she was dead, though. There'd be no answers unless we could maybe get them from James and the redhead. Not that I had any desire to see them again.

"Don't worry about it right now." Esme ran her fingers through my hair. "Just rest. We can talk about everything later. You're safe. That's all that matters."

I wanted to ask her where Edward had gone, if Alice would actually survive, but my body took her words to heart. Snow fell to my face as I closed my eyes.

* * *

I was in a bed. I knew immediately that it was a Cullen bed, because only extravagant Cullen beds cradled you _this_ way. An electric blanket had been put over me, and a hot water bottle was nestled at my feet. I could actually feel my fingers and toes; they weren't even tingling. Outside of the distant, throbbing sting of my wounded arm, I was in a toasty-warm heaven.

Then I remembered everything that had happened since this morning. I sat up quickly, my head spinning as I looked out a window. It was nearly dark outside—late afternoon. I'd slept the whole day away.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door, nearly making me fall out of bed. "Come in," I squeaked, my spine rigid. It'd probably be a long time before surprise visits didn't make me freak out.

Esme's head popped inside the room. "Heard you wake up"—there were no secrets in vampire houses—"and thought I'd bring you some hot chocolate." She entered the room, a small smile on her face.

"Thank you," I said, taking the steaming mug from her outstretched hand.

"How are you feeling?"

I wriggled my toes. They felt a bit stiff, but okay otherwise. "Almost human again," I answered. With my free hand, I fingered the bandages that ran from my left elbow, down to my wrist. "Where's Edward?"

Esme sat beside me on the edge of the bed. "The front porch."

My brow furrowed. "Why?" I wanted him here with me. Why the hell wouldn't he be beside me after all that had happened?

"I think he's very upset that he almost hurt you," Esme said gently.

I almost choked on my hot chocolate. "It wasn't his fault!" _I'd _cut into myself like some suicidal butcher. I'd known there was a risk. A really huge one. Maybe a completely stupid and unnecessary one, to boot.

"Maybe it wasn't his fault, but I think _he_ believes it was."

That was nothing new. I thought of the collection of binders in Port Angeles. Not to say Edward didn't have good reason for his guilt, but Esme had no idea just _how_ self-flagellating he could get.

Esme stared at the patterns on the bed quilt, then patted my leg. "It's dangerous business for a human to be involved with our kind, Bella, especially of late."

I nodded, though it was hard to imagine Esme could be dangerous, even if she had been fighting crazed newborns. As I sipped the last bit of my hot chocolate, I remembered Alice. "Is Alice going to be okay?"

"Alice is with Jasper and Carlisle," was all Esme said. "Her recovery is going to be a slow process."

I swallowed uncomfortably. "Did you find her…limbs?" _And tongue_, I wanted to say, but couldn't bring myself to.

She frowned slightly. "We did. Mostly. We think one of her legs was burned."

"What… Is there something that can be done?"

"Don't you worry. We'll keep looking. Alice will be able to tell us herself if that's what happened. Edward tried to read her thoughts, but…she was too far gone by the time we got to you. What we did find wasn't far from where you were. Carlisle believes Maria was only looking to prove something to Jasper."

She'd counted on his fear, but not his anger. "It backfired," I said.

"Yes." Esme patted my leg again. "Go see Edward." She stood. "Oh! Do you need help down the stairs? I can carry you."

I snorted at her motherly eagerness. I had no desire for any vampire to carry my bruised body any time soon. "I'm good, I think. Thanks, though." I threw my feet over the side of the bed, ignoring the burn of my muscles and itchiness of my skin.

Esme helped me stand, and when she saw I was too stubborn to accept and further help walking, made to leave the room. She turned back before passing through the door. "There's a coat waiting for you downstairs. Don't let yourself get a chill. You've already been so cold today!"

And just like that, things were kind of back to normal in the Cullen household._ Kind of_.

Carefully, I made my way downstairs without breaking my neck. In the living room, Rose and Emmett looked up from where they were cuddled on the sofa, books lying open on their laps. "Saw what you did," Emmett said, pointing at his own, flawless arm. I couldn't see where he'd been injured. "That took guts, B."

"You could have gotten yourself killed," Rosalie added. Though her tone was disapproving as always, I detected a hint of respect.

I gingerly tugged on the coat that was set out for me. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Jazz said it made all the difference," Emmett commented. I didn't know if he was telling the truth or just trying to make me feel better. "He also said you smelled _awesome_ before he stopped breathing." He grinned.

"Um, thanks, I think?" I let out an awkward laugh, and he gave me a thumbs up as I went out the front door.

Edward was sitting on the porch steps, his shoulders slumped from where he rested his elbows on his knees. He looked at me over his shoulder.

"Hey," I said.

"Your heart sounds better now," he responded. "Do you feel all right?"

I was in pain from head to toe, but I shrugged as I gingerly sat beside him and pulled my coat close. "Just glad to be alive, I think. What about you? How's your hand?"

He didn't answer me. "You almost didn't make it." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I—"

I let out a groan and interrupted him. "Can we skip this part?" At his raised brow, I said, "I mean, it's not like I didn't do this to myself." I waved my bandaged arm a little, ignoring the sting of protest. "And weren't you just telling me you'd grown fond of how down I am with monsters?"

"That was before half a dozen of them nearly chased us to your death. Before _I_ nearly sucked you dry."

"You weren't about to suck me dry." Well, maybe he had been, but I wasn't about to admit it. That didn't seem like it'd help our relationship or his self-esteem.

"Wouldn't you say things are different now?"

Rolling my eyes, I rested my head on his shoulder. "Not between us." Or maybe they _were_, but not for worse, I thought. Leaning up, I kissed his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere." He looked down at me, and a crooked smile slowly pulled at his mouth. I smiled back.

We sat for a while, each of us in our own thoughts. I noticed he was holding a brown rag in his hand and asked what it was. "Oh," he said, looking at me sideways, "that would be my left hand."

"You're just sitting here without a hand?" I said in disbelief, while trying not to show how _creepy_ that was. I'd seen a lot of weird things the body could do when Charlie was sick, but…calmly carrying around your own hand like it was some accessory? Only in a vampire's world. I sucked in a deep breath and nodded at the rag. "Can I see?" I'd seen it in the clearing, but not up close.

"You sure?" At my nod, he placed the bundle on his knee and unfolded the cloth, revealing fingers I knew well.

It didn't look real, I decided; it looked like one of those pale plastic hands you see around Halloween. "Makes me think of _The Addams Family_," I said without meaning to. I closed my eyes. "Please pretend I didn't just say that."

He didn't care, though. His head fell back as he laughed, and it wasn't long before I joined in.

A huge weight lifted off of me that I hadn't even realized was still there. Our laughter proved something. _We'd made it_. We were alive. We were going to be together. Always.

"It _can_ mend, right?" I asked, touching his arm. "Esme said Alice could heal, but it'd take time."

His laughter trailed off, and he looked down at me, his expression tender. "It takes a little while, yes; it will for her, especially. It's painful, or so I've been told in the past." He frowned down at the motionless appendage. "I've been putting it off." He snorted. "Emmett says if I don't man up soon, he'll hold me down and do it himself."

"Want me to hold your good hand while this one…fixes itself?"

"No, I might hurt you without meaning to—squeeze your hand too hard. One broken hand between the two of us is enough, I think."

"Can I at least sit with you?"

"I'd like that." He sighed. "Guess there's no time like the present."

Lifting the hand in his good one he brought it close to his face. He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. "You might want to look away."

I didn't believe in turning my back on a hurt loved one. I watched as he licked the pale pink tendons and whitish bones, coating them with venom. And I sat with him when he pressed it into place and let out his breath in a hiss.

"That's all you have to do?" I all but shouted. "That's amazing. It just heals back together?" He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. As fascinated as I was by the whole process of vampiric reattachment, he clearly didn't want to think about it. "Where are Jasper and Carlisle with Alice?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the pain. I thought I could hear the creaking and cracking of his bones melding back together. That couldn't feel good.

"In the woods," he answered, his voice tight. "Jasper didn't want to do it in the house with you here. There's a lot Alice's body has to heal." He opened his eyes and looked toward the forest line. "She's screaming."

"I can't hear her…"

"That's for the best."

I chewed at my lip, then changed the subject. "Edward? I don't really understand what happened today. Is that just because I'm a human and missed half of everything?"

He snorted. "Are you referring to Maria?" At my nod, he said, "None of us understands entirely. We're hoping Alice will be able to explain some things when she's better. But I think it's perhaps simpler than we first suspected. You heard her speak of Jacinto?"

"Yeah, who's that?"

"Her mate, apparently. She lost him long before I knew her—sometime in the early eighteen hundreds, even before she changed Jasper."

"What happened to him?"

"He was building armies, Jasper says; that's partly how Maria got into it. The Volturi caught up with him. They killed him and left Maria to live. She never told me about him—or that she'd even lost a mate—but her thoughts were slipping when she fought Jasper. She was thinking of him sometimes then. Jasper filled in the gaps for me on the way back. What he knew, anyhow. She never told him much, either, but that's what we were able to piece together."

"So all of this probably _was_ revenge against the Volturi."

"Perhaps."

"Why now, though?"

Edward sighed. "You know, when she came to Port Angeles, she said to me, 'Eternity stretches on longer than you can fathom.' I took that as a threat, but I wonder now if she wasn't speaking personally. Vampires don't have the best track record when it comes to handling the loss of our mates."

There was something disturbing about learning our enemy might have had a reason for being as screwed up as she was. I didn't like how knowing made it harder to process Angela's death, which still didn't seem quite _real_ to me yet.

"She wanted to die," Edward said, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Is that why she seemed to stop fighting after a while."

"You caught that? Mm, she knew the Cullens had taken out most of the newborns, and she wasn't sure she had it left in her to fight; she was tired of existing."

A disquieted shudder rippled through me. "I really thought she was gonna beat us for a while there."

"She caused her own downfall. She was less stable each time I saw her; only I never knew why. I think today she hoped she could coerce Jasper and me into helping her—use Alice and you against us—but she went too far. When she realized that, that she'd lost not only the newborns she'd created, but us too, it wasn't long before she wanted it all to end. She begged Jasper and Carlisle for death."

I thought about what Alice had seen Edward becoming again if I'd rejected him; the same thing might have happened if I'd died in the clearing. I tried to imagine a world without him, the world that had seemed to be staring me down in the clearing. I didn't know what I would be without him, either. I'd still be me, I knew, but…_less_. Not as whole. A box of crayons, missing the color green; Phoenix without the sun or Forks without its rain.

"I almost feel sad for her," I said and felt frustrated with myself.

Edward looked at me incredulously. "I think it will take me a few decades to gather my sympathy."

"I said _almost_." I looked at the way he was holding his injured hand close to his body. "How's it going?"

He grimaced. "Tolerably."

"That bad, huh?"

Instead of answering, he said, "Carlisle and Esme want to leave Forks when Alice is well again."

"Leave?"

"It's past time for them to. They want us to go to Wyoming with them."

Leave Washington? Leave Dad? "What's in Wyoming?"

"Nothing," Edward said dryly. "I think that's the idea."

I sat for a little while, thinking it over. All the times I'd thought of leaving Forks and Port Angeles, I'd never actually been close to doing so; it had been a fantasy. This area had been my home for four years, though, and my father was buried here. Angela would be buried here. I had roots, whether I liked it or not. It would hurt to leave.

Sensing my uncertainty, Edward nudged me. "You don't have to decide right now. It will take them a couple of weeks to prepare—and us, too, if you want to go." He smiled at me almost shyly. "Wyoming's sparsely populated, you know—would be good for a newborn."

For a new life, in other words, one not haunted by his past or mine. "Will I…be like the newborns we saw today?"

"I'll help you through everything, Bella."

"You didn't answer my question."

"For a time, bloodlust will be difficult to overcome, but you'll never be like those creatures you saw." He shook his head. "I won't let you lose yourself like that."

I couldn't hold his hand, but I tucked my bandaged arm around his good one and leaned close. He rested his chin atop my head. I tried not to think about dead loved ones, red-eyed monsters, the screams of a friend I couldn't hear, about unanswered questions or Edward's pained, uneven breathing. I tried to think of a new, better future.

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ If you're wondering at the title, it's because the Battle of Gettysburg is considered to be the "turning point" of the U.S. Civil War. The meadow is the turning point of the war with the newborns for the Cullens, Edward and Bella._

_Three more chapters remain (1 BPOV, 2 EPOV), for a total of 34. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out to you guys before 2012, but no promises. I've had all of this planned for a long time, though, so I know where it's going. The next chapter's probably my favorite, so here's to hoping. :) Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	32. Last Will and Testament

**_Author's Notes (February 15, 2012):_**_ Sorry about the delay. A terrible combination of real-life business and perfectionism prevented me from getting it out any sooner. As always, __**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, __**GreatChemistry**__ and __**smexy4smarties**__ helped make the chapter come together._

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm32-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 32: LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT**

* * *

_…and my mouth will fill with the taste of you,_  
_the kiss that rose from the earth_  
_with your blood, the blood of a lover's fruit._

_From "Sonnet XLVII" by Pablo Neruda_

* * *

**ISABELLA SWAN**  
Port Angeles and Forks became places of my past, towns I knew I'd visit but not live in again, places I glanced at in a rearview mirror as I set out on a different journey. A journey that would end in my death and reincarnation.

To say the Cullens had property in Wyoming would be an understatement. Each family member owned large expanses of land—a chunk of the entire state, it seemed—under an LLC. It was on Emmett's piece of the pie that Edward and I went to live with the Cullens in a mansion that could easily pass for a lodge and spa—and apparently sometimes did.

The lodge overwhelmed my middle class senses with its contemporary opulence—the first week, I was afraid to touch anything—but I also couldn't help but eventually swallow my pride and enjoy the peace and quiet luxury offered. We were in the middle of nowhere, free to be ourselves, plus hot tubs and fireplaces. It wasn't exactly a hard place to love.

It was where we began to heal after all that had happened with Maria and in the weeks and months before her. I grieved over Charlie when I needed to. Edward composed, and I wrote what came to mind when I heard his music; sometimes I even thought that what I was writing was good. And every day that passed with my pen and Edward's piano keys brought me closer to understanding him and the men and women he regretted killing. He held me in the night when I dreamed of bloodthirsty newborns or James and the redhead returning, and I soothed him when he struggled with the past he couldn't change.

By day, between music and writing, we worked at figuring out where we fit into the Cullen clan that was both family and…something else altogether. They were the people who'd be in our lives from now on, but there was still so much adjusting to do. And not only because I didn't share their diet yet.

But all in all, things were slowly starting to fall into place.

Except for Alice and me.

I watched from the sidelines as Alice learned to walk again with a custom-fitted, cushioned ball joint and prosthetic limb. I knew it wasn't easy; it never would be unless Carlisle and Rosalie could come up with something better. Alice was sentenced to an eternity of vampirism with a human handicap and all the pain and slowness that could come with it. Unfortunately for her, computerized prosthetics didn't go well with vampire brains or skin, and painkillers didn't work through venom.

If I hadn't already known she was going through a difficult time, I would have figured it out from one of the nights her anxiety and frustration bled from Jasper to the rest of us. Sometimes it was enough to wake me in the middle of the night, breathing heavy and on the verge of tears. Edward and I would leave the house to give them space sometimes, or Jasper would silently slip out into the wild with Alice in his arms, a shaky blanket of calmness wrapped around them.

Because I knew it was hard, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't confront her about her text messages to me, about how her meddling had nearly gotten us all killed. I hadn't told anyone—not even Edward—about her messages in the days before the newborns chased us right to Maria. I wasn't sure _why_ I was honoring my promise to keep quiet—in so many ways, I felt betrayed by her and her gift—but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

"What's going on between you and Alice?" Edward asked me one night. As always, he was in tune to the minds around him. There was no telling what he'd heard or from whom, but he seemed genuinely curious, not like he already knew the answer to his question.

"Things are just weird between us right now," I said with a shrug. We were sitting at the piano together, where he was teaching me "Simple Gifts." Surprisingly, when it came to piano lessons, he had the patience of a saint. I couldn't say the same for myself. I was ready for him to launch the piano out a window.

Edward looked at me, his fingers idly dancing over a few keys, making a light melody it'd probably take me years to learn. "What's _weird_?" He squinted his eyes at me, searching, and I looked away, down at the piano keys.

"Just all that happened in the clearing. With Alice." That was the truth, but I knew Edward would think I was referring to my blood and her mindless hunger, to human fears of vampirism, not the elaborate orchestrations and failure that led up to that moment. The conversation came to a close, like I knew it would.

Beyond that one time, I didn't have many opportunities to out her, what with Jasper and her so often being in the woods or in their private wing of the lodge. I thought, along with the pain, Alice found her injury embarrassing. Gone were the high heels and skirts she'd loved wearing for as long as I'd known her; she replaced them with modest dress pants that hid her disfigurement. Whole wardrobes were given away, and Alice stopped designing clothes.

I felt sorry for her, but after nearly four weeks since Maria's downfall, and almost two in Wyoming, I was tired of being nice and waiting to speak to her, tired of trying to figure out on my own why and how she could have gotten so many things so wrong. She owed us an apology, whether the others knew that or not.

Maybe Alice saw when I decided to confront her, because it wasn't long after I'd decided to that _she_ confronted _me_. It was all so clearly planned that I should have seen something was up. Carlisle and Esme went to Cheyenne for a weekend, courtesy of a gift from Jasper that, looking back on it, Alice was probably behind.

Rosalie and Emmett were in New York, celebrating some anniversary or another; it seemed like they had a zillion dates to commemorate. And Alice, for the first time in days, had been in one of the common areas of the lodge, where she encouraged Jasper and Edward to go hunting together.

Even hearing her suggest it to them, I didn't sense her setting anything up. I'd wandered outside to one of the lodge's elaborate fire pits with plans to read a book.

Clearly buzzing with excitement for the hunt, Edward wandered out minutes later and kissed me goodbye, his mouth rough as he struggled to control a smile.

Jasper complained good-naturedly as Edward lingered, "Will you two lovebirds cool it already?"

Edward laughed and went in for another kiss. I heard the smack of the snowball as it hit the back of his head. Then Edward was running, chasing his maker into the woods, his laugh so golden and free that it made my heart hurt. Their relationship, while still new, was more times friendly than not these days.

I smiled to myself as I opened my book. The fire pit made everything cozy, even while all around, snow blanketed the ground. It was so quiet, especially at night, that you could think you were one of the last creatures on earth. I peered up at the stars through rippling smoke and thought they had never been so bright, not even in small town Forks. Maybe there'd been too many rainclouds. And I wished, maybe stupidly, that my dad could be with me, seeing what I was seeing, but I consoled myself that maybe, if something existed beyond this life, he had a better view.

My reverie was broken as I heard Alice before I saw her. These days, she couldn't sneak around on graceful vampire limbs like some apparition. She hobbled as she got used to the prosthetic limb. Her feet—one real, one artificial—crunched in the snow, then paused; crunched, then paused. It was hard to listen to.

"Bella?"

I forced myself to keep looking down at my book as I mumbled a hello.

"Can I sit with you?"

I resisted the urge to bark, _It's a free country, isn't it?_ and settled with a nod. After all, this was what I'd wanted, right? To talk with Alice. Alone. Here was my chance.

A look of determination on her face, she managed the three steps down into the seating area of the fire pit. I should have helped her, but something stopped me, whether that was my own resentful disquiet over all that had happened or because I thought she wanted to learn to do things for herself. She sat on the opposite side of the round pit, so when I looked at her, it was through coiling flames and wisps of smoke. I wondered if it frightened her to be so near to fire but didn't ask.

Now that we were alone, I wasn't sure where to start, so we sat in silence for a long time. I was morbidly trying to read _The Picture of Dorian Grey_, but I couldn't keep my mind on the words, which melded together until they meant nothing. Finally, I shut my book and blurted out, "What the hell happened, Alice?"

She looked relieved that I was talking. Sad, too. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

"Forget sorry! I put all my faith in you! I _trusted_ you to get us out safe. You nearly got us killed!"

Alice was shaking her head. "You have to believe I did my best."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "_That_ was your best? _Really_?"

"I would never do anything to hurt any of you. You have to know that." Her eternally youthful face scrunched up in anguish. "How could I? I love all of you. This family…it's everything to me. I have no past or future without it."

Eyes narrowed, I stared at her, trying to remain hard and cold, like I'd felt months ago when Charlie was going through chemo and losing his battle against cancer. But I wasn't that hardened girl anymore, and my shoulders slumped. "I know you feel that way," I sighed. "But why…" Why, why, why? "What happened?"

"There was no other way."

"How can you say that? Do you really think your visions are that accurate?"

"When I have the same ones, over and over? Yeah, I do." I scoffed, and she added, "I've been trying to change some of these events for _seventy_ years, Bella. That's a long time. This was the most important thing I ever had to do, and no matter what I did, I knew someone would get hurt. It killed me." She let out a humorless laugh. "Almost did, anyway."

"Fine. What _did_ you see?"

"Horrible things," she confessed with a shiver. "But I didn't even know Maria was behind the newborns until Edward and Jasper met. I just—always saw her connected, to Edward, who was connected to Jasper, and you." She waved a hand. "Sometimes I feel _crazy_. I never see things in order. And sometimes what I see happens a few minutes later, or twenty _years_ down the road, or _never_. It's all mixed up in my head. If not for Jasper, I'd never get a break from any of it. Everything's always changing while I'm not." She looked down at her legs. "Until now."

She shook her head. "I'd always seen Edward and Jazz linked together. I just didn't know _how_ beyond how important you were to keeping them from killing each other_._ And I'd always known that once _they_ were united, Maria would come—on purpose or by chance, it didn't matter. She was always wrapped up in their lives and reunion, for reasons I didn't understand, and I knew it was either them or her, because she'd _lost it_ years ago. Someone was going to die, and there was a good chance some of us were going to go down fighting her. I did what I could to keep that from happening."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with their implications. "Why weren't you able to take Maria out? I thought that was what you were doing."

"What?" she asked, confused. Then her face cleared and she laughed a little. "No offense, but you humans have _terrible_ memory. I said I'd keep Maria busy, not _kill_ her. I would have, if I could, but there was no way to actually do it with the newborns around. But I also saw"—her voice cracked—"that I had to try, that I had to go after her, so she'd punish me; that would start the battle that would end it all. Jasper and Edward always had to be together, facing her, for her to die. And I had to be in the state I was in. I knew Jasper would come, and texting you was the way to get Edward there."

"But you told me to keep Edward out of it!"

She winced. Besides Carlisle, she'd always had the most human mannerisms of the Cullens. "I kind of lied."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Alice—more lies?" I stood up to leave.

"Wait, wait, wait, don't hate me yet. _Please_."

Scowling, I sat back down and stared at her.

"It's just you were going to let Edward take you away that night if I didn't say the things to you that I did. And I knew if you did stay, that somehow led Jasper and Edward to face Maria. That had to happen."

"And you just thought you'd risk our _lives_ to work things out yourself? The rest of us nearly died in the process! You should have fucking talked to us!"

"Do you think I didn't want to? I mean, really, do you think I _wanted_ to have this happen to me?" She sneered, "To go thousands of years as a _cripple_? Jasper _brings me my food_."

I knew that. I'd seen the bloodstained snow where he brought her his kills. Once, from a hallway window, I'd watched them, bathed in moonlight, as he laid a limp-bodied deer at her feet, a man presenting an offering to a god.

"It's horrible, Bella. I'm not even a vampire anymore—not really. I'm just some crazy woman with _stuff_ in her head. I can barely walk. I can't run. I can't feed myself. But I got _all_ of you out of there. Believe me, it could have gone differently. Almost every vision had one of you dying—or, worse, _all_ of you one way or another. But I did what I could, and I'd rather have this happen to me a million times over than lose any of you."

My heart constricted at her words. I spoke after the air had cleared a little. "I forget sometimes that you see a lot more than the rest of us." So much that I couldn't even really comprehend it.

"I don't see everything. I'm not omniscient; sometimes the others think I am—or even _I_ think I am—but I'm not. I've never been so scared as I was in that clearing. So many things could have happened to change everything, and by then I couldn't do anything to help." Orange flames reflected off of the blackness of her eyes. "What you did saved Jasper's life." Her voice cracked again. "So you saved mine, too."

If I was to go off of what she knew, she'd saved Edward. Twice. Once from Jasper and again from Maria.

"You can't ever play with the future like that again, Alice. No matter what you think you see."

"I wasn't playing."

"I know. I know you mean well—and maybe you did save all of us with your actions—but I don't want to be a pawn."

"You shouldn't worry. I don't think I'd get nearly as far if I tried anything like that again," she joked while patting her prosthesis.

"I'm sorry you got hurt. I wish we could do something to make it better." It was hard to think that if only Maria hadn't _burned_ Alice's limb, she'd be whole and happy like always.

"Eh, I'll get used to the peg leg." Her smile was fragile.

"I still don't really know how to process everything, but…thanks. You know, for trying to look out for us."

We came to some understanding—that we both loved the same people and wanted what was best for them—and didn't say much else. After all, what had happened was in the past now. If there had been a better way of doing things, we'd never know.

With my book long forgotten, I moved to her side of the fire pit, where we sat together, shoulder to shoulder. I knew I'd never tell anyone the things Alice revealed to me then, about how it all might have been different if just a few tiny things had changed. The devil was in the details, and for the first time in my life I thought that maybe, sometimes, that was where he needed to stay—in the details, in the dark.

* * *

January passed, and Edward and I found our place among the Cullens. I wasn't sure when it happened exactly, maybe one morning over the eggs and bacon Esme insisted on making me for breakfast or over a Wii boxing match between Carlisle and Edward, but one day we weren't just a couple staying with them, nor were we just good friends; we were part of their family, intricately bound forever.

They felt the shift, too, and soon Carlisle and Esme were giving us passports that featured the Cullen surname. Isabella Marie Cullen. Edward Anthony Cullen. New names for a new life. We were given bankcards as well, despite my protests. I was too afraid to see how much money I had access to, so I didn't log in to the account, but Edward did.

"You could buy _islands_ with this kind of money," he'd remarked while staring wide-eyed at his laptop screen. Then he'd laughed hard enough to wake Lucky, who snorted up at him from the floor beside our bed. "Apparently Carlisle already bought an island for Esme," he said, clearly listening to thoughts or conversations out of my human range.

I looked up from my book. "There's a _Cullen Island_ somewhere?"

"Isle Esme, apparently."

That was the grossest, most extravagant and unnecessary gift I'd ever heard of someone giving another person. Worst of all, I wanted to visit it. I just shook my head in disbelief.

If private islands suggested anything to me personally, it was that my life had gone from miserable to incredible in the financial department, just from blind luck. I'd _clearly_ never want for anything. More than that, though, I had a family and partner who loved me. I had a future where, at least from my perspective, only the sky seemed to limit me. But even with all this goodness, something held me back from taking that final leap of faith from human to vampire.

Edward knew what it was better than I did. One night while I sat on a floor cushion beside Lucky, eating in front of the fireplace in our suite, Edward laid an envelope down beside me.

I put my bowl of soup to the side and picked the envelope up. "What's this?"

"Something you need."

"What could I possibly need?" I squinted. "This better not be an island."

He laughed. "It's not. I'm told that's more appropriate for fiftieth anniversaries." He nodded at the envelope. "Go on, open it."

I tore at one side of the paper. Inside were plane tickets to Jacksonville, Florida, where my mother and stepfather lived. I stared at them, unsure of what to say.

"Bella?"

"This is really sweet," I started, "but I don't know how to face her." For so many reasons. I'd spoken to Renée _twice_ since Charlie's funeral, and neither time had gone well. More because of me, though, than her. My mother was mostly oblivious. That was the problem.

"You have time. We don't leave for a few weeks," he replied gently. "Besides, we'll only be there for a weekend."

He covered my hand with his, and I distracted myself by studying the nearly invisible scar that ran around his wrist like a string bracelet; it was proof that that day with Maria was real, not only a nightmare. I knew all his scars, and he knew mine.

"You need to say goodbye," he continued, "and Renée needs a chance to say goodbye, too, if this is the life you want."

I puffed out a breath. He was right, of course. I was looking at living until a freaking apocalypse; it was probably a bad idea to go into that holding a grudge against anyone, especially my own mother.

"Okay, but you _are_ going with me, right? I might need a fast getaway car."

"Oh, I'm going with you. There's no chance I'm letting you out of my sight until you're more durable." He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands until they stood high. His eyes flickered over to a window and the snowy landscape outside. "I don't think I should be around Renée, though. Your eventual disappearance will be more suspicious if she sees you with me."

I nodded. "Good thinking."

Eventual disappearance… That was a nice way of saying faked death followed by…_undeath_ that had to stay a secret. I felt a twinge of guilt whenever I thought about that, but I locked it away in a corner of my mind.

"So you're just going to be stalking me from the shadows?" I teased, trying to take my mind off things.

His lips twitched. "Something like that."

"Sneaking into my bedroom?"

"I don't know," he said. "We wouldn't want to sully your good name."

"Sully away," I laughed as I leaned against him. "So does this mean you'll…change me? After the trip?" All the soup I'd eaten seemed to hover at the back of my throat at the thought.

Edward sensed my anxiety. "If you want." Even after all we'd been through together, he was always so afraid I wouldn't want him. "I'm not pressuring you, am I?"

"No! And I do. Want this, I mean. I'm not having second thoughts. I'm just… I guess I'm chicken. About the pain. I know it's temporary…"

"Carlisle wants to try morphine on you. He thinks it could help."

I'd had morphine a few times. It could take you to a pretty happy place. "Do you think it'll work?"

"Perhaps," Edward answered, his voice full of doubt. "We'll try it, anyhow. It's the least we can do." He sighed. "I wish I was human so you didn't have to go through such pain."

The tender and frustrated expression on his face soothed my nerves, and I smiled. "It's okay. There'd be pain if we were both human," I said, feeling calmer. "Everything will work out. I'm sure of it." And suddenly I was. "I'll get through the change, and then we'll be together. Like we should be." I leaned up and kissed him. "But first—braving my mother. Thank you for the tickets."

* * *

It didn't matter that I knew I was living my last month as a human. It was like when Charlie died. Knowing how little time there was didn't change how fast the hands on the clock moved.

My past adjusted and bled into my present of its own natural accord. Jacob and I emailed each other twice. I wasn't sure why it happened, but part of it seemed to be out of some sense of obligation and a shared thankfulness for our families' survival than for any other reason. We ended things as they'd begun between us, long ago: as friends. Or at least as people who wouldn't be total enemies. For some reason this mattered, that settling of a _human_ past we'd shared so long ago, before vampires, werewolves and soul mates, the past that was gone forever and probably for the better.

The Quileute tribe knew I had left with the Cullens; they weren't saying anything about it, and I knew that was Jacob and Billy's gift to me and to the vampires who'd helped wipe out the newborns that threatened their way of life. Carlisle said we'd visit Forks whenever I wanted, but the Cullen family would never live in that part of Washington again. Never seemed like a long time when talking about eternity, but I understood.

Through emails, Lauren and I dealt with the loss of Angela, Ben, and the baby we'd never get to meet. As the days flew by, sometimes I struggled with guilt about how I lived when others didn't, about how Angela might still be alive if she'd never chipped in for the trip to The Rosebud, where Edward and I met. I began to understand a fraction of Edward's guilt. I wasn't even a vampire yet, and it already felt like blood was on my hands. Maybe it was.

Would Angela be happy to see Lauren and I were doing well after her death, or would she be jealous of the lives we lived? The dead were silent outside of Edward's music, though, and the frequency of my and Lauren's emails to each other dropped off sharply after our initial grief; we had our own, separate lives. She would be all right when my replies stopped altogether.

I tried to make the most of my human time, and my inhuman family encouraged me—and, I thought, lived through me sometimes. Surrounded at the dining table, I ate all my favorite foods, from lasagna and cheeseburgers, to homemade ice cream and smoked salmon that made me think of my dad.

I got drunk and made love to Edward on our bedroom floor; his cold hands soothed my hangover the next day. He ran with me in the darkness and in the light, took me on a motorcycle at top speed—round and round on twisty-turny-icy roads only a vampire could navigate; these things wouldn't feel so daring when I was like him. For now, my heart raced, and the wind chilled, and I felt purely, achingly _alive_. There was no other way to feel when I knew my life was in my hands and in his.

With the help of Red Bull and video games, I broke my record for staying up without sleep—and then slept fourteen hours straight until I felt Emmett drawing on my face. He'd given me eyebrows and a mustache in the style of Groucho Marx. With permanent marker. Rosalie helped me remove his artwork while Emmett teased me in the background and Edward chuckled when he thought I wasn't looking.

In a sign of the growing trust between Jasper and Edward, nothing was said when Jasper offered to take me to a ranch to learn to ride horses. I could tell he wanted to ride with me, but he couldn't; animals were too afraid of vampires. Instead, he stayed just outside of the ranch's perimeter.

"Live it up," he told me with a small smile, and all around me was a sense of longing.

When I returned to his motorbike hours later, sore in places it didn't feel right to be sore in, he asked how it was. I'd discovered horses scared the hell out of me, but I wasn't about to say that to him.

"Uh… How 'bout I skip the next lesson? You can start teaching me to play the mandolin instead."

"Suit yourself." Jasper smiled and winked, as if to say he knew I'd hated the horseback riding and that was okay.

Snowmen were built, games were played, books were read, movies were watched, and all my days were filled with laughter. It was the quietest, nicest vacation I'd ever had.

This was how February slipped through my fingers. Before I knew it, Carlisle and Esme were taking us to the airport, where they hugged us before we surrendered ourselves to metal detectors and disgruntled security personnel.

"Even if you've had your differences with Renée, try to find it in your heart to forgive her," Esme whispered as she held me. "She loves you, and I know you love her."

"Thanks, Esme," I whispered back.

She kissed my cheek with her chilled lips. "I know I won't ever replace her—I won't even try—but I'll be here when you get back. We all will. We'll be the best family to you and Edward that we can be."

I guessed Esme didn't know that she'd been more of a mother to me for the past few years than Renée maybe ever had. I didn't speak the truth aloud, though.

Edward and I made our way to our gate and boarded. We were in First Class, land of leg room. I'd never been in First Class. My brain reminded me I'd only be on it one more time as a human—on the trip back to Wyoming.

Human time was running out.

In the air, over surprisingly tasty food, I felt strange, like I was already dying. Like maybe I'd been hovering between life and death for a while now, ever since Edward and I met, or maybe since James' freaky girlfriend and I had just happened to cross paths years earlier. Maybe the last month hadn't been living it up as a human, but transitioning into something else, something between what I was and what I was becoming. Maybe the change had already begun and didn't just come down to venom, but to the choices I was making.

Did Edward feel it, too? He was quiet on our flights, and as we neared Florida, he held my hand a little too tightly.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, wriggling my fingers away from his. "Is it hard being in planes with all these people?" It was hard enough for me to listen to the ponytailed brat three seats behind us. I couldn't imagine having to listen to her while knowing I could shut her up by eating her for dinner.

Edward looked at me as if he was surprised to hear my voice. "I'm sorry. I must be an awful companion today. I'm distracted."

No kidding. "Is it their thoughts?" I asked in a low voice, while glancing around the cabin.

He didn't answer me as he stared out the window. We were up high in the clouds, and it was pitch black nighttime out there to me, but maybe he could see things humans couldn't. "I hope things go well with your mother," he murmured.

"Um, me too…" _What's up with him?_

"I think I should keep my distance when we're there."

I frowned. "You've already said."

"Mm."

I tugged on his arm. "Edward? What's going on with you? Are you sure everything's okay?" It felt like he wasn't telling me something. I didn't like that feeling. I'd felt it before. I narrowed my eyes. "You better not be keeping secrets again."

He turned and smiled his crooked smile, the one that almost always made me feel like the world itself was glowing from the inside out. "Everything is fine," he said. "Only I'm selfish. I'll miss you while you're with Renée."

* * *

Shortly after we deplaned, Edward kissed me farewell and slipped away to some other part of the airport. He promised I'd see him later and wished me luck with Renée.

Boy, did I need it.

Then it was just my mother and me. Or it would have been if she'd been there on time.

After waiting for fifteen minutes, I called her. "Mom, where are you? I can get a cab if that'd be better." _I could get a whole island if I whip out my credit card_.

"I'm on my way!" Renée answered, sounding flustered and flighty as always. "Promise! I thought it was _9:30_ you were getting in, not _8:30_. Just realized my mistake. Shh, don't tell. I'm speeding like a bat out of you-know-where. I'll be there in no time."

I sighed. "Okay, I'll be here. Be careful driving, though."

"Don't worry. I've got my seatbelt on!"

I didn't bother pointing out that she was talking on her cell while driving. I just said a prayer for the other drivers on the road with her.

The strange thing about Renée was that she was constant in her inconsistency. You could count on my mother to be flighty and selfish and short-sighted, and sometimes what hurt the most about all of that was to know how little she _meant_ to be that way. Like with Charlie, as much as I'd all but hated her when he was alive, time and distance had allowed me to accept that Renée was just being Renée. I could hate it or begrudgingly accept it; there'd be no changing it. This understanding didn't mean I wasn't bitter about her inability to be a responsible adult, though, and by the time she pulled up in front of the airport, I wasn't sure the trip to see her had been such a good idea.

But then my mother hugged me. I wanted to be stiff. I wanted to teach her a lesson by showing her I wasn't ready to let her back into my life, what little there was left of it. But I couldn't do that, and I hugged her back while crying. She was the only biological parent I had now, and I was about to say goodbye to her for the rest of her life. Without her even knowing.

Who was the horrible, selfish one?

"I'm so glad you came. I love you so much, Bella."

I closed my eyes and breathed in what smelled like patchouli incense. "I love you, too, Mom. Always." That was what hurt so much.

* * *

Renée had cooked dinner, which was never a good thing. She didn't believe in recipes, only following her spirit, which was apparently as clueless about cooking as my mother's corporeal form. At least the night was nice. We sat outside on the deck, where it was comfortably warm and Florida-balmy; I could hear waves lapping at the beach and, distantly, the sound of a party.

"How's school?" Phil asked after a while of our pretending dinner was edible. He gave me his polite, stepdad smile with his too-white teeth. He was a really nice guy, and good for my mom, but there'd always been a little awkward tension between us. There was bound to be after Renée told me intimate details about their sex life when I was sixteen.

Phil used to be too vanilla.

"School's…uh, good."

"I bet you're making all A's," my mother cooed. "You always were my little bookworm." She laid a hand on Phil's wrist. "Do you remember how Bella just _devoured_ your _Sherlock_ collection?"

"At least someone's read them," he joked.

Uncomfortable and feeling a little queasy, I looked down at my plate of "Moroccan-styled" food. My palms were sweaty, and my fork shook in my hand as I pushed my mother's idea of couscous around with its prongs. "I'm thinking I'll take a year off," I commented in what I hoped was my best casual tone.

The Cullens had told me saying something like this would be a good way for Renée to deal with my disappearance. I hoped they were right.

"Oh, honey, that sounds great. You need to get out and explore the world! You know I went on a road trip with your father after high school."

I stared at her. I didn't know that story. How had she never told me?

"One of my best decisions," she continued. "We saw the Grand Canyon and went to Four Corners, and Santa Fe—you know there's a motel with a ghost there; I saw it—and we kept on right down to Mexico, but your dad got a stomach bug and couldn't cross the border like that. Guess that was okay—the car was dying." She seemed to finally realize she'd gone on a tangent and asked, "What are you planning to do?"

"Not sure yet," I replied quietly.

"Well, if you want a little money for a trip or something, just let us know. We could contribute a little, couldn't we, Phil?" She not-so-subtly poked him under the table. "We've got some saved up."

I couldn't get past the rush of blood in my head to even enjoy how dismayed Phil looked at my mother's suggestion. "So you have money for me to potentially squander my future, but you couldn't contribute a dime to Dad's chemo?" Or any of those bills that piled up or the tuition I'd not been able to afford when push had come to shove.

Renée's eyes widened. "Honey, it's not that—"

"What, _simple_?" I stood up from the table, my eyes stinging. "Look, I'm going upstairs. I'll see you in the morning."

"Bella—"

I didn't look at her as I left the room. "Don't."

I lugged my backpack with me to the second floor. I stopped in my tracks in the doorway of the guest bedroom. It wasn't a guestroom, not really. I'd assumed that, by now, Renée would have changed it, but she hadn't. What awaited me was _my_ room, a girl's room filled with girl's things. Blast from the past. I'd never lived with my mother and Phil, but she had brought my Phoenix room over when they'd moved to Florida; I'd thought it would be different four years later.

The giant, white teddy bear Phil had bought me sat in one corner, a lilac and pink, hand-knitted blanket draped over one of his fuzzy legs. Grandma Swan had knitted it for me when I was a baby, and even as I'd gotten older, I'd never wanted to put it into storage. I ran my hands over the worn material, thinking I might take it when I left.

The walls sported my favorite things of years past, including a boy band poster and picture of some verdant landscape with ancient stone ruins and stormy clouds on the horizon. It was a travel poster for Iceland; if you looked closely you could see the lines where I'd unfolded it from whatever magazine I'd pulled it from, maybe _National Geographic_. I'd always wanted to go to Iceland when I was younger and didn't fit in. It seemed like a far off, remote place, one where I could disappear and not be made fun of for enjoying books more than boys.

I was glad now that I'd read more books than I had kissed boys.

A corkboard was beside the poster of Iceland. Pinned to it were pictures of old friends, some whose names I couldn't quite remember, which probably meant we'd never been as close as I'd believed at the time—no matter how much the eight-, ten-, and thirteen-year-old faces smiled for the camera. A couple of report cards—all A's. A birthday invitation; I still remembered that house party, how I'd sat alone for most the night. I'd had my first beer and hated it. Now, I couldn't remember why I'd gone to the party or why I'd thought to save the invitation.

There was a Christmas card from my dad that I immediately knew I'd take with me. It was almost strange to see how intact my past was, like I'd actually disappeared the day I left Renée, at seventeen, to live with Charlie.

A quiet knock sounded at the bedroom door. "Go away," I said crabbily. "I'm naked."

The door cracked open, and I turned to lash out at my mother's intrusion, but it was Edward's face I saw as he slipped into the room.

"Liar," he snickered. "You're dressed."

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "How'd you get in?" I whispered.

"I have my ways, unethical as they may sometimes be."

"I'll say."

Edward surveyed the room. "So, this is Isabella Swan, teenager. I think I like her."

"She's too young for you."

"Anyone with a Backstreet Boys poster is no longer young."

"Oh, shut up."

He went to stand before the poster. "Were you attracted to any of them?"

"Would it matter if I said yes?" I blushed. That poster had aided in self-discovery.

He smirked as he looked at me from the corner of his eyes. Then he shook his head. "No, it wouldn't matter. They're all washed-up has-beens, and I'm the superior musician."

We laughed, and he wrapped his arms around my waist while we looked at my corkboard together. "Are you all right?" he asked after we'd been quiet for a while.

"I'm guessing you heard the blowout?" Of course he did.

"Yes."

I sighed. "Why does it have to be this way? Why can't I just _move on_?" That's what I wanted. That's what I'd thought visiting Renée was about. Closure. Getting over everything. Instead, I felt raw, like my wounds had met salt.

"Because she's your mother, and we're all programmed to be a little masochistic when it comes to love." He kissed the top of my head and inhaled deeply.

I touched his cheek. I didn't like to think of the pain my blood caused him.

"I just don't know how I'm going to get through the next day and a half," I said. "What do we do? What do I say to her? She doesn't know me, and I don't really know her anymore. I wish you could come."

"I think I'd only get in the way of things. You can get to know each other again. Just try to enjoy the time you have and know she _does_ love you." He looked down at me with a smile, his eyes warm. "I'll never be far from you, unless you ask me to give you some space. If you want a break from your mother and need me, message me, and I'll meet you wherever you ask."

Slowly, I felt myself smiling back at him. "You'll meet me anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

I sniffed and joked to hide from all the emotions I was feeling, "A dark alley?" I waggled my brows.

"Intriguing," he said with a snort, "but let's not do something like _that_ until you're more immune to human germs."

"You're no fun," I teased.

He tugged on my hand as he walked backward to the small, double bed in the room. "I think I can convince you of otherwise."

"What? _Here_?" I resisted a little, but I'd never been good—and never wanted to be good—at refusing Edward Masen. "In my mom's house?"

"You were talking about _dark allies_." He nodded at the teddy bear in the corner. "We can turn him around if his staring makes you uncomfortable."

"Ha. Ha. You're so funny."

"I'll know if they hear anything." He tapped his temple, then dropped his hand to the bottom hem of my shirt.

I helped him pull it off. "It's really creepy that you're going to keep one part of your brain on my mom's thoughts while we make love."

"It's only creepy if you put it like that."

"What other way is there?"

"Just come here, Bella." He pulled me to him and sat down on the edge of the bed…which squeaked and creaked beneath his weight more obnoxiously than any other mattress on the planet ever had in the history of modern mattresses.

"Floor?" he offered.

* * *

When I woke the next morning, it was to an empty bed and a folded letter.

_The sun has begun to rise, and I feel I should leave while I can. Your mother keeps waking. Try to have a good day and know I am not far, come rain, or more likely, shine. You are loved, Bella. —E_

I rested the letter on my lap and ran my fingers over Edward's swooping cursive letters. It felt strange to wake up alone, even stranger to know it was maybe one of the last times I'd wake. At all. _Soon, I'll never even sleep._

Imagine all I could get done.

I sighed. I thought I should feel bad about disturbing Renée's rest, but instead all I wanted to do was call Edward and run away. _Fuck closure_. He could change me in the everglades, for all I cared. _He_ was my future. These problems with my mother were in the _past_. I held onto my anger from the night before for a good five minutes, let it burn on all its bitter fuel, but it eventually slipped through my fingers. I'd managed to find some closure with my father; I had to try for the same with my mother.

That was that. _Suck it up, Bella._ Showering and forcing a smile on my face, I began the day.

Renée had made pancakes. It was one of the few things she could actually cook, and I smelled them as soon as I set foot in the sunlight-flooded living room.

Pancakes were a peace offering.

"Morning, Mom."

Renée jumped in surprise, her hands flying apart from where she'd been wringing them seconds before. I pretended not to notice.

"You made pancakes," I said.

"I know they're your favorite." She set down a plate of them beside a bottle of maple syrup on the kitchen table, then pulled out a chair. "Here, sit. Chow down."

Clearly neither of us was going to bring up the night before. That suited me fine.

"Where's Phil?" I asked while stabbing four pancakes with my fork.

"I made him go play tennis—you know he's taken that up too? I swear he gets more active every year. Can barely keep up with him. Anyway, I thought we could have a girl's day."

"Oh."

Renée's face fell. "I can call Phil if you're wanting to see him. If I'm monopolizing your time—"

"No, no, it's not that. A…girl's day sounds good." I distracted myself with butter and syrup. "So you've made plans?"

_Plans_ and my mother didn't really go well together and could mean absolutely anything when they did combine forces.

"I've got it all figured out," Renée said, smiling as she confirmed my fears. "We're going shopping this morning, then seeing a photographer—"

"A photographer?"

"We haven't had pictures taken together in ages!"

I had once hated having my picture taken, but knowing how little time I had left as a human gave me a different perspective. "That sounds like a great idea."

"Good! I thought we could spend the afternoon out on the beach; you don't get much sunshine up in Washington—then…well, tonight's a surprise, my little treat!"

I swallowed a bite of pancake that went down like concrete. We were so out of touch. (Had we ever _really_ known each other in the first place?) I hadn't told her I was in Wyoming. I couldn't. And a surprise? I still didn't like them. But this was the last full day I'd have with my only remaining parent, and I had to _try_ to find closure.

"I can't wait," I said.

* * *

Renée dragged me through a dozen shops, her credit card at the ready. She'd never been one to hunt for a bargain, and that hadn't changed; what she saw and liked, she bought, budget be damned. One bag quickly multiplied into several others.

Three pairs of shoes, a necktie Phil would never wear, and one horrid orange-sequined dress later, and we were at the photographer's. Renée had met the portly, bald-headed Francis in a pottery class, and he welcomed us with open arms into his private studio. He had us pose together and snapped candid shots in between takes. I forgot about the orange-sequined dress that Renée had made me wear; I even forgot about how angry I'd been at her for months on end.

We were smiling in the pictures he showed us on his laptop. We were happy—even me in that dress that would have appalled Alice. I asked Francis to send hardcopy prints to Charlie's address, knowing they'd get forwarded to a Wyoming post office box with Edward's name on it.

We returned to Renée's house, exchanged dress clothes for shorts and shirts, and headed to the beach. My mother swung a snack-filled picnic basket back and forth between us as we meandered through cold ocean froth.

"This is nice," I commented while watching a seagull swoop low over the water. We'd wandered to a quiet strip of the beach. "What if we set up here?"

"Bella?"

My mother's tone made me turn and look at her. We both had stopped, and she'd let the picnic basket drop to the sand. The early afternoon sun caught the soft, round angles of her face. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears.

After years of looking out for her when it'd just been the two of us, I felt my heart jump. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"I'm just looking at you. Sometimes it seems like you grew up over night."

"Yeah, I'm legal and everything," I joked awkwardly. "Just like last time you saw me."

"You came into this world a tiny adult, I think." She gave me a watery smile. "You know, I wish I could go back to when you were little—make better decisions."

"Oh." I swallowed a painful lump in my throat and shrugged. "You…did the best you could," I said as much to soothe myself as her. "You were a single parent."

"Honey, there's no need to sugarcoat it. I've been a horrible mom." She laughed brokenly. "You were always the one making sure my head was on straight. At forty, I think I'm old enough to admit that to both of us."

I bit my lip, unsure of what I should say, if anything. We just stood there, staring at each other and the surrounding scenery. The wind tossed my mother's hair and shoved at my body, as if it wanted me to fall back into the ocean's waiting arms of salt and seaweed.

"You didn't come with a how-to guide," Renée said, "but I wish I'd done better."

My eyes burned. What hurt so much was I wished she had, too.

"What's brought this on?"_ Why do this now when I'm trying to say goodbye?_ "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"That's _why_ I need to say this, baby. I need you to know that I'd change so much if I could. I don't know that I've ever told you that, but it's true. I'd have given you a stable home, and a dad, and life with _us_—like it should have been. You, me and Charlie. Like it should have been."

Her words conjured up so many things—anger and hurt and the fairy tales I'd so longed for as a child. It's every child's dream: that perfect, safe home with two loving parents and no fears. "Why would you say that? You _can't _change any of it."

"I know I can't change it. But I need to say I wish I could, and I know if I don't _now_ I may not get a chance to."

Something in her voice, the words she chose, made me freeze beneath the sun. My skin prickled. A wave crashed against my ankles, making the sand suck at the sides of my feet.

"We may not be close like we were when you were little," she said, "but I'm _still_ your mom. I know things."

I tried to keep my tone even. "What do you think you know exactly?"

Renée cracked a smile, even as tears slipped past her eyelids. "What I know is sometimes I feel like I've lost you, but then I remember you were never mine to lose." She shrugged at my confusion. "I didn't know how I'd have you—how I'd _survive_ you—but… God gave me a sign. He intervened in my life. You came into this world with a future already set in place—one I can't even imagine."

"I don't think—"

"You were always more like Charlie, but I've known—I've _known—_since the very first day I found out I was going to have you, that you were _chosen_. My life was spared so I could have you. It's blown me away ever since you were just a little thing. It bothers me to know I've messed up the time I've had."

What was she talking about—_thinking_? My eyes scanned the beach, looking for signs of Edward. I longed to have his gift of mind-reading in that moment. But even though I knew he must be around, I couldn't see him anywhere.

"Have you been talking to that guru again, Mom?"

"Don't have to," she laughed. "I know you. You're saying goodbye, baby." She smiled at my obvious discomfort. "You never could lie to me—not even when you were a kid. Just tell me you're happy. Can you tell me that?"

"I am," I replied softly. "I'm happy."

"That's all that matters in my book."

She held open her arms, and I walked into her warm embrace, the one that hurt and comforted—the one that scared and confused me in that moment.

Renée whispered into my hair, "Please forgive me, baby. I should have been better—with you, with Charlie. I know it. I'm sorry."

As we held each other, my chin resting on her shoulder, I let myself cry. No one ever told me how hard it'd be to forgive as an adult; somewhere between childhood and twenty-one, the transgressions had evolved from playground bullying and stolen toys to shattered hearts and broken promises. Forgiving my mother for not being the woman I wanted and needed her to be was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

But, for whatever reason—maybe just mother's intuition—she was right. I _was_ saying goodbye, and I needed to do it right. I had the chance to do it right.

"It's okay, Mom. There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

Renée's strange behavior didn't last, though it still niggled at me hours later. I was dying to ask Edward how she knew I was saying goodbye, if she really did know that. But I resisted the urge to message him and instead lived in the present with my mother.

We spent the afternoon lazing in the sun like we used to in Arizona. When the sun began to set, Renée revealed her surprise for the night. She'd made a reservation for us at a restaurant called The Gator Shack. With a name like that, it wasn't surprising that it was an hour away, tucked in backwater swamps. It didn't really sound like the kind of place you needed to make a reservation for, but I went along with it with a smile.

"I read online they have the _best_ frog legs," my mother told me as we climbed into her ancient Ford station wagon.

"I'll, uh…try them, at least," I replied, trying to sound excited. Frog legs were probably some sort of cosmic payback for all the times I'd unknowingly made Edward eat human food. _He'll enjoy watching me suffer through this._ I could just see his smirk.

With pop music blaring and my mother chattering away about Phil's latest sports interests and her newfound love for candle making, we headed south on the 95 out of Jacksonville. Just like old times, I was on map duty, an outdated atlas of Florida laid open on my lap.

As I laughed and got along with Renée on the journey, I began to see how painful saying goodbye would be, how permanent this separation was. There'd be no more visiting, no more phone calls or packages or cards or feline-filled email forwards. I'd be dead to her, which meant she'd have to be dead to me. With Charlie, there'd been no choice involved. With Renée, there was.

The hard part was I already knew what I was going to choose, and it wasn't going to be my mother. I'd have to live with that choice. Forever.

_No pressure._

I'd become so distracted by Renée's chatter and my own preoccupations that I hadn't paid any attention to where we were going for quite a while. We'd taken several turns, and suddenly we were in the sticks with no signs of life around us. I glanced back and forth from the map to the narrow, rural road we'd somehow gotten on. It was the kind of road that suggested you'd hit dirt before too long.

"Mom, where are we?"

"I followed signs to The Gator Shack a few miles back. I'm not seeing it, though. Oh, and we've missed our reservation—darnit. I hope they still have seats."

Yeah. _Darnit_. "Wait, there were _signs_?"

"Of course. I told you they had the best frog legs."

_Right. _"I think we need to turn around and get back on a main highway."

She flicked on her headlights. "Maybe we'll find another sign. I'm sorry I've gotten us lost. You know how I am."

Knowing Edward was near, I wasn't so worried that we were lost, anyway, just a little embarrassed that he was witnessing our ineptitude. If absolutely all else failed, I'd just call him. With his senses, he probably always knew where he was. And where I was, what with his penchant for stalking.

I looked into the darkness. I couldn't see him anywhere, but I thought I sensed him like you sometimes sense the rain—a force of nature picked up only on some animalistic periphery. Maybe it shouldn't have, but it made me feel safe.

It never came to calling him, though. Renée turned the car around and began heading back in the direction we'd come. It was pitch black on the winding, hilly roads that veined the swamps and forests; the headlights pierced the darkness.

"Bella, do you remember that big hill on the way to Tucson?"

I grinned. "The one I used to beg you to go fast on?"

"These roads are just like it." She looked at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners with her big smile.

"I don't know," I said hesitantly. "It's really dark."

"Oh, it'll be fine. No one else is on the road."

She had a point, and anyway we'd see another car's headlights a mile away. I bit my lip and thought for a second, but only a second. "Okay, let's do it!"

Charlie once said my mother had a lead foot. On another occasion I heard him tell her he'd have given her a ticket for speeding if she'd been in his county, that he had half a mind to call Child Services over the reckless endangerment of his daughter.

What I remembered most, though, was the fun, the speed as Renée and I flew downhill, the way my fingers crested and fell on waves of air as I stuck my hand out the passenger's side window.

Renée pushed her foot to the floorboard, and that old station wagon, the same one we'd flown in when I was a kid, roared its best impression of any Cullen luxury car. My insides lifted with the descent of the first hill; we both squealed on the second. It was halfway down the third hill that things suddenly went wrong.

A knobby-kneed doe bounded onto the road at the base of the hill. She stopped, turned and froze in place, her eyes reflecting bright green as she stared at the headlights.

"Look out!"

Renée jerked the wheel—_hard_—to the right to avoid the deer. Everything came down to scrambling—to right the wheel, to slam on the brakes, to manage the skidding as the tires screamed on asphalt, to avoid going off the road.

My mother's arm flew out and covered my chest to hold me in my seat as the car popped over the edge of the road. For a second, we seemed airborne. We hit the graveled shoulder and slid; the gravel propelled us that much more, slingshot us toward trees.

A long, thick branch pierced my side window, entered the car like Death's hand. The broken point of the limb stuck into my side like a pin going into a voodoo doll. The car rammed into a waiting wall of tree trunks. Someone screamed.

Darkness.

Somewhere I heard the screech of metal, the hiss and scent of a smoking engine, the snap-crack of wood. I heard my name and tasted metallic blood.

"No, no, no."

I heard coughing, the sound of retching.

"You…came…for her."

"Yes."

"Always knew…guardian angel."

"I have to take her away." A whisper so soft. "There. There, that's it, Renée. Rest. It's all right. I have her."

I blinked but only could see out one eye. The world came in flashes—of stars and a smiling man in the moon, of Venus so blinding and skinny tree limbs that were like fingers pointing out the constellations.

Falling, sinking, slipping away. It was so…comfortable. Like falling asleep, only deeper.

Suddenly, I could see myself on the forest floor, as if I'd stepped right out of my skin. I could see Renée beside me, her features slack and bloody, that old station wagon crumpled and smoking. And over my body was Edward. His hands worked over my chest, tirelessly pumping up and down.

Pinch the nose. A lover's kiss. I could almost taste him.

BREATHE.

But I didn't. His arms were covered in ribbons of my blood as he set to pumping my chest again.

I fell deeper…

And deeper into darkness.

Deeper…deeper…down and down through the crust of the earth, until I was in the core of the planet. In the belly of the sun.

Burning. Not the heat of Phoenix, but boiling water, skin to star fire, flesh to flame. A sting so encompassing that acid must be in my veins. It was every word for Hell that man knew—and words we didn't know and couldn't make.

Then the burning faded, lessened to a dull throb, a simmer.

Some part of me had returned to my body, which stilled and stiffened more with the passing seconds. My heart thudded hard and heavy, and longer stretches of time connected each subsequent beat. Like the slow beats from the night I'd sat with Edward at his piano, as he explained tempo with his usual patience.

Lento. Very slow.

Allargando. Slow, broad, loud.

Grave. Slow and solemn.

Larghissimo.

His crooked smile, the way he turned with mischief in his eyes. "Here, let me demonstrate," he'd said. He kissed me until gravity lost its hold. Larghissimo. Kissing…very, very slowly.

Morendo. Drifting away.

I was drifting. I was dying. I knew this.

Coda. The tail end. Finale.

Silence.

Several moments passed. Or maybe they weren't moments. Maybe they were lifetimes. There was no sense of days or hours or minutes or seconds. No night. No day. No atoms making matter. Just…

Here.

The new world was one of contrasts—white-bright light and shadowy, wispy forms I knew to be bodies. There was Gran, smiling and reaching—not with her hand, but with herself, the very essence of who she was. I thought I saw others in the background—was that Angela? And there was my third grade teacher, Ms. Simmons. She used to sit and read with me during recess, when the other kids wouldn't play with me, the eternally clumsy kid. I'd not thought of her in ages, but I felt myself—what was left of me after the fire—wave to her.

And when I turned, my breath caught, because Charlie was here, too. He wasn't like I'd last seen him—gaunt and sick—but how I liked and _wanted_ to remember him: sturdy and calm, maybe even happy looking.

"Dad!"

He came toward me in the way all the other shadows moved—not quite clearly, as if floating, instead of walking. But when he hugged me, it felt _so_ real, so crystal clear, like everything else I'd ever felt _hadn't_ been real, just some virtual reality to a another reality. I smelled him—the scent of coffee and evergreen Washington air and _home_. Just _home_. I cried as he held me.

"Shh," he hushed, smoothing my hair, "everything's good, Bells." He said this as he began to pull away. I tried to hold on to what felt like flannel, but my fingers slipped through the soft material with my every effort. I could touch, but I couldn't keep.

"_No_!" I cried in despair, grappling, claw-like. "Dad—Dad, what's happening?" My voice sounded funny, echo-like, like I was listening to an old tape recording of myself.

"It's okay," he said, and he leaned in once more and kissed my forehead. He was warm. Real. Crystal clear.

"Don't go," I begged.

I felt his smile. "Not going anywhere. You are, kiddo. You gotta go back, Bells."

"What? What do you mean? Go back _where_?" There was only here.

He began to fade into the distance, just like he had so many times in my dreams from another time and place and life.

Then I realized he wasn't fading away. I was.


	33. Purgatories and Paradises

**_Author's Notes (March 8, 2012):_**_ My lovely betas (__**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, __**GreatChemistry**__ and __**smexy4smarties**__) got this one back to me like a week ago, but I'm evil and kept it from you. Blame my work life and personal projects?_

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm33-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 33: PURGATORIES AND PARADISES**

* * *

_Because we only want a life_  
_That's well worth living,_  
_And sleeping's no kind of life at all._

_"In Your Own Time" by Iron & Wine_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
_March 2, 2009_

Hours were decades. Every moment without her laughter and _being_ was agonizing. What would happen if she never woke, if I had failed her? I could still taste her blood on my lips.

We were hidden away in a cabin in the Carolinas. I sat at her bedside, my hands grasping hers, as if I might pull her back from death. That was what I prayed my venom would do.

I kept one finger on her pulse point, the north star of her humanity and the vestiges of my own, my guiding point. She didn't scream and writhe as I had. She was as silent as any of my victims.

"She's changing," Carlisle assured me, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "Have faith."

But _she_ was my faith. There was no heaven without her.

Alice spoke of the future. "You're going to be so happy together. We're all going to be so happy." In her mind's eye, I saw the immeasurable joy, the laughter and contentment. "I can't wait."

I couldn't either and hoped Alice had it right this time.

I felt when Bella's broken bones mended, then turned to steel. I rejoiced over the loss of scars—and mourned their disappearance. Her heartbeat became a whisper.

_Thud-thud_, _pat-pat-pat_.

She would wake. And I would need to find a new north star to navigate by.

I would miss my human girl.

* * *

_March 3, 2009_

When Bella returned to me, it was on the magic of the witching hour and with the suddenness of a human waking from a night terror. She scrambled to her feet with a grace her first life had not afforded her. Scarlet eyes searched the room for danger then settled on me; though no longer brown, they were still as haunting as any moonless night.

"Edward?"

"It's me," I spoke softly. "I'm here."

"There's…so much." She looked around again.

Her mind was ever a mystery to me, but I knew of the world she saw. I remembered waking from the change—the new sights, scents and sounds. The confusion.

"It's all right. I'll help you." I held out my hand.

She moved like a wild creature and silent as the wind to throw her arms around my waist. Her embrace was a vice that all but crushed my bones, but I couldn't care. I would mend. All that mattered was she was alive and mine, the last of her line of Swans.

We stood still as only our kind could, holding each other until the sun rose. There was no need for words or even, for the moment, blood.

* * *

_November 1, 2009_

Bella now knew the quirk of venom, that mechanism within that made the blood call as sweetly as any siren. She was eight months into her new life, and she'd had no human contact. She didn't have to; her body knew better than to think animal blood was satisfying. Her craving for _more_ did not abate, nor did her newborn mood swings. Any given hour was filled with happiness, sadness, boredom, thirst, anger and every other emotion under the sun.

Some days were more difficult than others. We had needed to hunt a second time this day. She sat on the mountainside after she'd had her fill, plain grasses surrounding her up to her breast, swaying in the breeze. A bear carcass was laid at her side, still and bloodless, its jaw yawning open as if it was still growling. Or perhaps it was a frozen scream. He'd never had a chance.

"Feel better?" I asked.

Her newly golden eyes cut over to me. "That's a stupid question."

"It _will_ get easier, Bella. You have to believe that."

"Thaaat's what you keep telling me," she sang. "Of course, this is from the guy who feasted on humans for sixty years. You're such a hypocrite."

"Sometimes," I admitted, sighing. "You're not yourself. The blood's controlling you."

"Bear blood _sucks_. How does Emmett _like_ the stuff?" She toed the head of the beast with her worn sneaker. The toe came away with blood, which she swiped off with a finger to promptly put it in her mouth.

There was a reason we called new vampires newborns. It was the terrible twos for blood drinkers and in truth I could not wait for her to be past it.

"It will get easier," I repeated to remind us both.

I looked away from her, across rolling hills and angular mountains. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over all it touched; Bella's skin shone like diamonds, throwing rainbows on the grass. For one so delicately beautiful, I could sense the barely controlled agitation beneath her skin.

"Do you need Jasper? He's not far."

"He doesn't help."

"Now that's not true," I admonished as gently as I could. "You feel more at peace after he's helped you."

"It's only temporary." She waved a hand at the bear. "This isn't enough," she spat. "I'm still so thirsty. Edward, _please_. There's got to be _something_ better."

"You know what the only other option is."

Pouting, she shrugged a shoulder.

"Guilt is not better in the long run."

"We can eat criminals! You did. You don't even feel bad about eating them."

I pulled her up from the ground. "We won't even discuss how much criminals have corrupted me over the years—and made me cynical."

"But—"

"I'm not going to let you have human blood. Period, the end," I said firmly. "It's best not to entertain such temptation."

She was quiet as she regarded me. Her eyes traveled down the length of my body and darkened to black. I smiled, knowing blood was forgotten for the moment.

"What about entertaining other temptations?" she asked.

* * *

_September 13, 2010_

"It's midnight," I whispered, as if the hour were holy. "Happy birthday, Bella."

She laughed a little and stretched where she lay atop me. Flesh upon flesh, silk upon a sinner. "I think we can stop celebrating my birthday. It's not like I'm getting any older."

"That's true," I agreed, "but your birth is very special to me. _I_ want to celebrate _you_."

"I guess it is a bit like an anniversary for us. We've known each other for two years now." She grew quiet and her brows pulled together.

"What is it?" I stroked her back.

She stared at me, her eyes piercing. "Edward, you tell me everything, right?"

"I certainly try to."

After two years, I'd learned to be less secretive and trust our relationship could survive difficult truths. It helped that my venom sat in her veins. We belonged to each other.

However, I still had _old_ secrets. It would take decades, perhaps longer, for me to share some matters. When it came to Bella, I didn't lie, but I didn't always go out of my way to divulge details. She knew enough; if she asked for specifics, I gave them, but until those moments came, I kept some secrets.

She wanted specifics this night.

"You knew my mom, didn't you?"

My hand stilled on her back. "When?" I asked cautiously.

"Oh, come on. You know what I'm getting at. _Before_. Before us, you knew her." There was no doubt in her eyes.

I hesitated but answered truthfully. "I met your mother once before I met you, yes."

Pain, anger and confusion flashed across her soft features. "Why didn't you tell me?" Now she was melancholy.

"It didn't seem relevant."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It wasn't," I insisted.

"So that's why you never wanted to be around her—why you avoided her at Dad's funeral and that last day… Why she thought you were an angel. Am I right?"

"I didn't tell her that. She assumed."

Bella barked a laugh. "I did too before I knew the truth." She picked at the edge of a pillowcase. "So that's that, I guess. How old was she when you met her?"

"Young—early twenties."

"I was a baby then." I didn't correct her, and she continued. "We were still in Forks, maybe. Were you there before?"

"No, Renée and I met in Seattle." I swallowed hard. We were coming dangerously close to a discussion I had no desire to have. But Bella didn't ask why her mother had been in Seattle or for details of how we'd met. Instead, she asked the question that every child who's felt unwanted desires to ask.

"Did she—was she happy when you met her? With me?" She was so afraid to hear the truth.

"Bella…"

"I have to know."

Unfortunately, she had reason to be afraid. I could tell her the truth, that Renée hadn't wanted her at all, that though she'd had a change of heart somewhere along the way, a part of her—a part she didn't like but was still there—always resented the brown-eyed girl who'd stolen her youth. I could have told Bella that. I could continue down a path of honesty and disclosure. Or I could spin a better tale. Renée's sordid side of the story was buried in Florida.

Habitual sinners are not made holy overnight. Perhaps some lies are not wrong or sinful at all. _This_ lie could be right, I thought.

"She was happy," I said, holding Bella's gaze. "She loved you so very much."

* * *

_2013_

When the worst of the newborn cravings passed, Bella wanted to see the world. She was right to assume there was more to it than a handful of states. We started in Iceland, worked our way through Scandinavia, and spent weeks in the UK. With Carlisle and Esme at our sides, we visited the governing Volturi in Italy; I came away from the encounter feeling grateful I had never turned up on their radar. Their preferred form of punishment was often permanent and only questionably just.

Each country offered a new adventure for the woman at my side—new sights and scents and sounds, none of which overwhelmed once she had learned to juggle the intensity of her new senses. My only regret was that she had never seen these places as a human, that I could not give her the pleasure other humans experienced in the foods and spirits of other cultures. She said she was happy, but it was in my nature to wish I could give her more.

It was Germany Bella loved most, enough so that for the first time since she had become a vampire, we parted ways with our family to live as a couple. We found an apartment in Wiesbaden and furnished it with bare necessities and a piano. On sunny days, we stayed in and continued to work on my swan songs; on cloudy days, we explored our new environment.

Bella took up photography, climbing buildings at night to photograph the city from new and unusual angles. It helped that vampirism allowed her to be as still for as long as she desired, no matter the position; she took long exposure shots of the city while atop the domes of the Russian Orthodox Church of Saint Elizabeth. We celebrated when this series of photographs was published in a magazine, even though a pseudonym received credit. We knew the truth; that was all that mattered.

Over a century on earth had taught me that pleasurable moments are only temporary, that happiness ebbs and flows so that we may know it to be happiness at all. Knowing this does not make tragedy any less painful, however.

It was days before Christmas, and I was still working on Bella's gift. With her not being fond of extravagant displays of affection, I was always forced to be creative. This would be the year of the sculpture. I'd been taking classes under her nose for three months.

On my way home from the latest class, Alice called from Beijing.

"_Ni hao_," I answered cheerfully. "What do the stars have in store for me today?" After a few years of living with Alice, I'd learned to accept, and perhaps even enjoy, her meddling. A little.

But this day was not for teasing or mundane weather forecasts.

"You need to hurry," Alice said, not bothering to return my salutation. "A delivery guy is making his way to your apartment, and I don't see it ending well with him and Bella. I was just curious what Bella was up to, and— Oh, Edward, hurry. Please. She'll be heartbroken if she does this!"

It didn't matter that Wiesbaden's streets were busy, I ran as best I could, faster than a normal man, risking exposure. But I was not fast enough.

I smelled blood as soon as I entered the building. Venom rushed to my mouth, but I swallowed it without thought. A mistake had been made, and Bella needed me. This was about more than human blood.

The inside of our apartment was sprayed and spattered red in some sickly, postmodern murder I was all too familiar with. A man's body lay face down on the floor, his limbs bruised and broken; one leg was twisted to the side at an unnatural angle. The smell of his death was only surpassed by the scent of his blood.

Bella glanced up at me from where she sat beside the body. Gone were the golden eyes I knew so well; they had been replaced with crimson guilt. Her hands and mouth were also stained crimson, and her hair was stringy around her face, the strands sticky and matted.

"Edward… What have I… What have I done?"

I listened to the thoughts throughout the apartment building; no one had heard anything. "You made a mistake," I said, kneeling before her.

"It's a little more than a mistake. I _killed_ him."

I nodded. There was nothing I could say to make this better, and there was no denying the damage that had been done.

"He just smelled so amazing."

"Humans will do that."

"His family—Edward, he has pictures of kids in his wallet. Four of them—a baby, too." She put her face into her hands. "God, I'm a monster."

I nudged her chin so she would look at me. "_We_ are monsters," I corrected. "But we can and _do_ rise above that if at all possible." Helping her to her feet, I nodded to our bedroom. "Go have a shower and begin packing. I'll take care of this."

"But this is all my fault. It should be my responsibility to take care of it."

I shook my head. "There are some things you shouldn't know how to do well. Disposing bodies is one of them."

With heavy hearts, we departed from Germany by nightfall. We left a devastated family in our wake.

* * *

_July 9, 2014_

The Cullen coven had several core tenets, one of them being that one family member's mistake was the whole family's mistake. There was no judgment when blood was spilled, only acceptance and rehabilitation. It was for that reason that I returned with Bella to Carlisle and Esme's waiting arms. With my past, and with her being the primary catalyst of my own lifestyle changes, there was little I felt I could do to help her. Unfortunately, no matter what any of us did, something had broken inside of Bella.

"I took someone's dad away," was all she would say on the matter. Nothing we said could make her accept her mistake and move forward.

She stopped writing. Her books and camera collected dust. I sat alone at my piano, uninspired and lonely, often watching her from our bedroom window. She'd sit outside for hours, Lucky at her side, her fingers clutching the dragonfly fossil I'd given her years ago.

"Can't she just get over this already?" Rosalie grouched.

So much for acceptance.

"Says the woman who never gets tired of her own reflection," I retorted.

"Let's be nice, everyone," Esme reminded us.

"Did the dude really smell that good?" Emmett asked. "I mean, I've had my fair share of mistakes, and if it was anything like those… You can't help it, man. They're just too tasty for their own good. She has to know that."

"_Emmett_."

"Sorry, Esme." He glanced at me. _But, really, man. She doesn't need to feel guilty. _

We were all at our wit's end for different reasons. I sought Jasper for help, as I had several times since he and Alice had returned from Beijing, but he made no promises other than to try harder to bring Bella out of her depression.

"Tuned my mandolin and banjo," he said to her one day. "Why don't you come on inside, and we can jam? Alice's been taking up the fiddle. She plays a mean 'Soldier's Joy.'"

Bella offered Jasper a small smile. "Thanks, that does sound nice, but I just wanna be alone. For now, anyway."

"I know you do, but I can't just up and leave you when you're feeling like this. Why's this still got you so blue?" In his mind's eye, I saw Bella glare at him, and he shrugged. "Nobody's perfect, you know. Nobody's been asking you to be, neither. Only one of us close to godlike behavior at this point is Carlisle, and he's an anomaly."

"It's a little more than being imperfect. A man is _dead_ because of me."

"And all the moping in the world won't bring him back."

"I don't need you to tell me that."

"See, I think you do. Now, Edward, he's too nice to you. He wants to give you exactly as you want, but the problem is you don't know what you _need_."

"Oh, really? Why don't you enlighten me?"

"I was going to. You need to go and do something good in the world." When Bella said nothing in reply, Jasper snorted in annoyance. "Well, fine then. I feel how it is. I'll leave you to yourself."

With that, he turned on his heel and went back to the house. He looked at me as he entered through the back door.

"You better get hold of that girl. You and I both know that kind of depression is a surefire way to slip again and create one hell of a nasty cycle."

* * *

_August 18, 2014_

There were times in my past when I'd sat in place for weeks on end, only moving when the thirst demanded I feed from humans, blood bags or animals. I had never seen another vampire do this, though, until Bella. Most days, she sat outside, still as stone, letting the elements ravage her, all while refusing our help. We were in Canada, but Bella was stuck in a bloodstained apartment in Germany.

What had I done bringing her into this life? She had been so pure and innocent. I had ruined it for her and made her into a murderer. Accident or no, I knew all too well that no matter how thoroughly you washed your hands, blood remained, demanding atonement. She was a true vampire now, and she would never be the same again.

But then she _was_ here, and I was here, and that was the crux of it. Ages stretched before us, and we needed to make the best of them together. I decided that if she wouldn't take Jasper's advice to heart, I would do so for her and hope she'd follow my lead. I'd _make_ her if it came down to it.

I sat in front of her in the grass. Lucky rolled over on his back between us until I rubbed his exposed belly. "We're going away for a little while," I told her. She looked up but said nothing. "We'll be doing some aid work with Carlisle and Esme."

"I ca—"

"You can, and you will." I pulled an envelope from my back pocket, opened it up and pulled the papers from inside. "The Bauers are taken care of. His wife and children will never want for anything."

She stared at the papers, her mouth turning downward. "Except him. This isn't the Dark Ages. Money can't replace a father and husband, Edward."

"No, but all we can do is try to make amends. You of all people know how important financial security is." I tucked the paper back into my pocket. "I began my swan songs as a way of making things right. You have to find something like that."

"But I wasn't supposed to be like you," she whispered. "You weren't supposed to let me kill anyone. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Both anger and guilt rippled through me. "I can't watch you all the time. I shouldn't have to, and you wouldn't _want_ me to." I stood and looked down at her. "One thing I won't let you do is wallow any longer. I've done enough of that for both of us in the past. I've packed your bags. We leave within the hour."

"I don't want to go."

I bent and kissed her cheek. "That's irrelevant this time."

* * *

_February 11, 2019_

The truth about aid work is there is always someone, somewhere, who needs help. There are towns that need doctors who don't believe in voodoo, children who need mosquito nets to protect them from malaria, people who need clean water and food. There is always civil unrest somewhere or a natural disaster striking.

The fragility of humans had never been lost on me, but I became more aware of how delicate they were, how serendipitous it was for Bella to have been born where and when she had been, to have survived me twice, to have even lived long enough to enter this world of ours.

I'd made Bella go into aid work to help her rise out of her depression, and indeed it was successful in doing that for her, but it did more than that, too—for both of us.

"You did well," Carlisle said.

"Thank you." My fingers were coated in blood that was still drying. I turned my hands back and forth in wonder. "You know, the scent doesn't appeal to me at all."

Carlisle smiled and touched my shoulder. "How can it when you see they need you so? Your needs become secondary and seem paltry in comparison." He looked back at the sleeping boy whose intestines were, against all odds, packed inside his body again. "He'll survive."

But I was still afraid for the boy and so sat beside his cot through the night, while the other aid workers believed I rested. The boy woke at dawn as sun streamed into the medical tent. His mouth opened wide when he looked at my skin.

"Shh," I whispered, a finger to my smiling lips. "Our secret?"

He nodded with a sleepy smile.

Through our experiences, we discovered Bella had a gift. Given her ability to keep her thoughts from me, I'd always wondered if that might manifest as something more. But it wasn't her ability to shield herself from me that evolved.

As time passed, Bella found she was drawn to the grieving, even those who outwardly seemed fine. It was a heavy burden she felt in her chest—that gnawing, aching hole of sadness caused by loss. Her presence and touch were a panacea to the pained. When Bella came near, all thoughts and pains of loss drifted away, became locked tight into some other part of the brain, so all that remained was peace. I'd never heard Bella's thoughts, but I knew this compartmentalization was how she had survived and ultimately accepted Charlie's death. Much healing could be found in a small respite.

Eventually, our entire family became part of the aid work, finding each of us was gifted for one role or another. Alice told us where we were most needed. Esme and Emmett made sure there was food for the hungry. Rosalie helped with care for women and children. Carlisle and I healed the sick when possible. And Bella and Jasper soothed those losing and lost. These things were more important than blood, even if our bodies still demanded it.

We found eternal purpose through helping the ephemeral, the music I composed took on more notes of a major key, rather than minor.

The day came when finally I had saved more lives than I had taken.

* * *

_April 3, 2022_

"Would you let me blindfold you?"

I looked up from my sheet music. "I think I prefer when you're the one with the blindfold."

Bella ducked her head and let out a laugh. "Really, though," she said a second later. "Would you let me?"

"I suppose." I would do most things that would get this woman naked.

"For several hours?" she asked.

"_Hours_?" I echoed. "What exactly are you planning to do to me?"

She patted my knee. "You'll find out soon enough."

It took one blindfold, five hours of driving, and seventy-five dollars for Isabella Swan to marry me in Las Vegas. I wondered what my mother would think of my marrying in a gambling establishment, but mostly I believed she would have loved Bella.

* * *

_January 27, 2026_

In the beginnings of our relationship, there had been many times Bella had frightened me. It hadn't merely been the potency of her blood or the difficulty of revealing what I was that had been frightening. I had feared losing my autonomy, of being responsible for caring for another when I was barely able to care for myself.

There was no fear these days, and I knew better now than to think Bella couldn't take care of herself—and sometimes even me—when the need arose; we had both grown more capable, more compassionate.

In place of the fear, there was a never-ending desire to watch her grow, to see and feel her happiness, to love her hard and soft. The truth that remained static and always would was that there would never be enough time with her.

* * *

_November 4, 2038_

Making sure to give the Quileute reservation a wide berth, we secretly returned to Forks for the first time in nearly thirty years. We began at Charlie's house. Bella had leased it to tenants for the past couple of decades, but there was no one living in it at present. It needed work—probably more than it was worth, but we would spend the money to make sure it was restored. Esme would enjoy the challenge.

Bella pressed her cheek to Charlie's old bedroom wall. "I can smell him here."

We left flowers at Angela and Ben's graves then slowly made our way to Charlie's. With a sigh, Bella bent and placed the modest bunch of flowers beside his gravestone.

They were yellow and white daisies, a simple arrangement for a man who'd had simple pleasures. She stood and stared for a long while, not bothering to move or breathe or blink, until tiny, crystalline beads of humidity gathered on the flower petals. In a cemetery in the dead of night, there was no need to pretend to be human.

"Do you think it was real?" she asked, her soft voice carrying on the wind. Her brows were furrowed, dark against her luminescent skin.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I smiled at her. Over the years, I'd discovered Bella had an ironic habit of posing questions in a way that assumed I could read her mind.

"Do I think _what_ was real?"

"The light. And seeing Charlie. Everything I saw when I died."

"Ah." She'd asked this question many times. I still didn't know the truth and said as much. I'd been in the minds of the dying, of course, but they always slipped into darkness. If something lay beyond that darkness, it was not made known to me.

Bella tucked hair behind her ears, but the wind made quick work of pulling it free. "I've been reading about it again," she said. "Near-death-experience stuff. I think—" Her words choked off. "There are just too many medical explanations for what happened to me—firings in the brain, lack of oxygen. I was dying; my body was just going through the motions. I don't understand it all, but…" She sighed, frustrated. "I don't know what I'm getting at."

I was quiet for a time as I chose my words carefully. "You don't have to know if what happened was real or merely a psychological reaction."

"I'll always wonder, though. Forever."

"Perhaps. But knowing the truth won't alter the pain of any regret or separation," I told her. I took her hand and brushed my thumb over her knuckles. "What you _can_ know is that whether Charlie is watching over you or has simply returned to the earth, he would want you to live and love and flourish. He wanted so much for you, Bella."

Biting her lip, she nodded. I could see venom hovering on the edges of her eyelids. "Thank you," she whispered.

I kissed her forehead and hoped that if Charlie was watching over her, he was pleased with me, too.

"Come." I pulled at her gently, knowing if I didn't she'd stay here for far too long. "We have a plane to catch."


	34. A Heart at Rest Stays at Rest

**_Author's Notes (March 16, 2012):_**_ This is it, guys. :') I yammer at the bottom._

**_Chapter music:_**_ bit(dot)ly/sotpm34-music_

* * *

**"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"**  
**CHAPTER 34: A HEART AT REST STAYS AT REST**

* * *

_I never thought I could feel this way._  
_I never thought love could be true_  
_For someone so independent—_  
_Then along came, along came you…_  
_My days, my nights, my life:_  
_They start and end with you._

_"Lay Me Down" by Ashley MacIsaac_

* * *

**EDWARD MASEN**  
At the bottom of the hill, the park glowed with life. Paper lanterns had been strung up around the perimeter of an outdoor stage, where they bobbed in the breeze like oversized fireflies. Humans lounged on blankets in the neatly trimmed grass, watching the musicians on stage. Some couples swayed together, enjoying the warmth of a summer evening; few would go home alone on a night such as this. To one side of the stage, a few children danced in jerky pirouettes to a tune of their own making. They lost sandals in their unbridled, simple joy.

Depending on the direction of the wind, fragmented melodies drifted up to where Bella and I sat on the hilltop. It didn't matter that the music came in bits and pieces. We knew it already and the stories behind each song. After all, we had penned the notes and words ourselves.

Did the spirits of my victims dance, too? I wanted to believe they did.

A piece I'd once worked on with Alexander Jang smoothly transitioned into Charlie's song, though the musicians knew it by another name. I was pleased to see Bella smiling while watching them. Time had done much to heal wounds caused by old losses. The world was too big and beautiful to accommodate endless grief.

Our dog Mozart half lay across Bella's legs; he gazed at my pants pocket, where he knew I kept bits of jerky. His brown eyes were so like Lucky's. I smiled and scratched behind his one floppy ear.

"I wish we could stay here," Bella said, turning to me.

"I do as well," I sighed.

The Cullens had moved on a year earlier, but we'd stubbornly held out another fourteen months. Now, though, it was time to join them again. Even with humans' anti-aging efforts steadily moving along, we couldn't pass for being in our upper thirties. Not for the first time, we would need to start a new life.

"Chicago is…" I searched for words as I looked toward the city's bright lights in the east. "It's a far cry from being anything like it was at the turn of the century—"

"Last century," Bella corrected with a laugh.

"Yes, thank you," I replied dryly. "_Last_ century, in the time of the horse and buggy." Bella giggled. "Anyhow, it's nice, even if different from when I was a boy." And much improved since the dark days from my time as a newborn. Chicago had its problems, like any major city of the world, but at least it no longer had to contend with Al Capone and me.

"Do you ever wish you'd been able to stay here?" Bella asked. "I mean, maybe if the Spanish Flu had never hit and taken your parents, you could have grown up, been some successful businessman—married a Mary Jane or Mary Sue?" She bit her lip, then added, "You could have had a human life."

"You know I blew that chance." On depression and alcohol, some of man's most worthless ventures, on the whole.

"But say it'd all gone differently…"

I looked up at the moon. It was full and seemed close enough for one to reach out and hold. As I stared at it, I imagined a perfect human life, one where love was endless, where lies never hurt or perhaps weren't told at all, and where no one ever, ever had to die. The things of dreams, not realities.

Love didn't come without its share of struggles, lies were sometimes necessary, and death was needed for there to be life. I saw in hindsight what Alice must have seen all along—the events and choices that connected Jacinto, Maria and Jasper to me. The entangled threads that led me to my victims. How Lucky lived on through his descendants. The way brown eyes became red, then golden.

When I was younger, I'd believed the world demanded balance, that every push was to come with a pull, every joy with sadness. More than half a century later, I still saw evidence of this.

I'd tried to cheat nature and take more than I deserved, but against all odds, I'd changed my ways since. Now, I cared more for sowing than reaping, and I'd been rewarded accordingly. Not perhaps in the ways of dreams or of perfect human worlds, but in the way that suited me and made me a better man. So much of it came back to the woman beside me.

"Bella, no life would be worth living without you."

She lifted a hand and touched my cheek. Venom gathered at the corner of her eyes. "I'm glad it ended up the way it did, you know. All of it. Even the stuff that really hurt."

I smiled. "So am I."

* * *

**AND THEY LIVED IMPERFECTLY EVER AFTER**

* * *

**_Closing Notes:_**_ (1) Yes, that was an intentional Mary Sue joke. (2) The chapter's title is in reference to (not Mike) Newton's First Law of Motion, which states, "An object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction __**unless acted upon by an unbalanced force**__." Both Bella and Edward are disrupting forces in each other's lives; it's only through coming together and growing through love that they achieve balance and come to accept the pain caused by mistakes and nature itself._

* * *

**_Final Remarks Probably Few Will Read:_**

_Dear readers,_

_If you made it to the end of "Sins of the Piano Man," thank you. If you enjoyed it, I'm all the happier! To have had so many read has been a true pleasure for me, and I've really appreciated your comments and support along the way. Much of what you've said has made me smile and encouraged me to continue even if I wasn't always able to take the time to tell you that directly. It also meant the world to have so many of you share your personal experiences with cancer and what Charlie's story in SotPM meant to you. I'm thankful that you thought I handled it well and realistically; I certainly attempted to. Your words will stay with me long after I click "complete." _

_I know SotPM's a strange story in places. Any story about death and redemption is maybe bound to be. There are parts I'm proud of, some strangeness that's 100 percent intentional whether anyone likes it or not, and other parts I would edit more heavily if this weren't fan fiction. However, at the end of the day, it is what it is, flaws and all: my fan fictional version of the saga, plus a little chaos theory. _

_It contains ideas I agree and disagree with regarding death, loss and fears of the unknown. Bella goes through the stages of grief, several characters learn how to forgive themselves and others (or perish when they're unable to do so); by the end, most learn acceptance and how to be compassionate, rather than lash out at the world. No one in this story is perfect or pure, and they still aren't at this closing. I believe in a world of grey, not black or white. For this reason, SotPM does not end with manic happiness or perfect characters._

_I wish to give special thanks to my lovely betas and friends, __**Aleeab4u**__, __**duskwatcher2153**__, __**GreatChemistry**__, and __**smexy4smarties**__, all of whom helped me make sense of the last section of this story. There would be all sorts of plot holes and confusing phrases if not for them—and even more typos (bane of my existence that those are). I learned a lot from their comments, much of which I'm carrying with me. More than anything else, I'm happy this story connected me with them. They're all really lovely people (and writers/betas!) who have been sweet to me. You should get to know them if you haven't._

_So, SotPM is done. As planned, I'm going back to my original writing, for the most part. I will continue to pop in on occasion to (maybe) write outtakes for this or maybe a one-shot or something short (think fewer than 30k), but this was the big one for me. It can't get much bigger than rewriting the saga, I figure—or, at least, I don't think it should. I don't want to tell the same story a thousand times over._

**_You're welcome to download this story, share it, translate it, masturbate over the inexplicit sex scenes, etc. I more or less release this creature into the wild (that's what the internet is, didn't you know?) and can only hope you'll treat it and me kindly. _**

_Because I believe in going out with style,__** I'll be replying to EVERY review for this final chapter**__, so if you have any remaining questions, please log in (so I __**can**__ reply!), review and ask away. It may take me a while to reply, but I most certainly will._

_Thank you again to everyone who has read. It's meant a lot. Now I'm going to go hit "complete" and feel emo for a little while._

_—Solar _


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